


Come Away To The Darkness

by hrelics9



Series: Hunger Games AU [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: AU-Hunger Games, Again, Again Major Character Death, Gen, Human-AU, M/M, Other, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 68,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrelics9/pseuds/hrelics9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His name is ringing in his ears. Scott's hand is back on his wrist, so tight Stiles knows there will be bruises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming For You

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, the song Come Away To The Water-by Maroon 5. Is amazing, its on the Hunger Games soundtrack and it is so the best song on there.

 

 

It’s Scott’s birthday. His sixteenth.

There’s a chill in the air, seeping in through the old wood and into the house. Stiles knows it’s no use curling in; under the ratty blankets, the chill has already settled in him. He breathes deep and keeps still. His father isn’t home; he’s already out on patrol. The room is dark when he manages to open his eyes, it’s still early. Early enough for him to pretend he never woke up; he could just close his eyes and go back into his Mother’s arms. Instead he crawls to the edge of his thinning mattress and sits up.

Stiles closes his eyes and whispers aloud, “it’s Scott’s birthday.”

His father left him a slice of cheese and bread on the rotting table. But he doesn’t feel all that hungry today. He eats it anyway after a glance in the dirty mirror. He’s getting too thin; the end of winter always has him under his normal weight.

It takes him awhile to find his jacket and shoes, his father had put them near the fireplace. They are still warm. The wall of fog is enticing when Stiles steps outside. Fog makes it easier to get away with things. It’s perfect for today. He heads around to the side of the house and digs around in his stash of game in the barely working deep freezer. He takes the freshest game he has and slings them over his shoulder. It should be enough.

Most of the town is barely up, but Stiles doesn’t need more people seeing what he’s doing. Not that it really matters much, no one reports anything here anymore. The black market is only half as full as it normally is, but that’s partially because of the hour. It takes him a bit to even find what he’s looking for. At first he’s afraid someone else had traded for them, but he found them. A pair of shoes, good ones. They’re dark in color and the cloth is thick and hole free. And they’re not boots, which Scott hates. He offers two fresh squirrel hides and two of the birds he killed on Monday.

“Sorry, kid. I’m gunna need more than that for a new pair of shoes.”

Stiles huffs, he knew that. But sometimes people were nice enough to take what he offered, or dumb enough. Stiles searches around in his jacket pocket, rubbing the smooth metal before pulling it out grudgingly.

“This too.” He says. His mother’s necklace. Just a silver chain. But melted down and it would be enough to trade in for food for a week, at least.

He gets the shoes and a few silver coins too. He leaves feeling heavy hearted.

It’s still dark out and the fog has cleared some, but he can still see it hugging the mountains and hillsides thickly. He quickly makes his way to the bakery where he trades his last two squirrels and the silver coins for a loaf of bread and two small slices of chocolate cake. He’s careful not to squish them as he jogs back across town.

He has to wait for a few peacekeepers to walk down the road before slipping out under the wired fence. He doesn’t go far though, just to the nearest hilltop. It’s wide with few trees, tall soft grass and a perfect view of the rolling blue forest.

Scott’s already there, sitting near the edge, his knees pulled up. He’s popping raspberries in his mouth and Stiles smirks.

“Hey dude.” He drops down beside Scott.

Scott smiles around the berries; his eyes don’t crinkle though, “hey.”

Stiles reaches across him and steals a few berries, dropping the shoes in his lap, “Happy Birthday, buddy.”

Scott looks like someone killed his mom. He runs his hands over the new shoes and subconsciously tucks the ones he’s wearing under his thighs. They’re full of holes and barely holding together. Scott’s needed new shoes for a few years now, but food is always more important. His eyes are huge and vulnerable when he looks up at Stiles.

“Stiles-”

“Oh! Hey, I almost forgot.” Stiles cuts him off and pulls out the cake and bread, “it’s chocolate.”

Scott’s eyes shimmer, but he takes the cake with a thanks and leans heavily on Stiles’s side. They watch the sun rise in the sky and the fog rolling off the hills, glowing golden. They eat and breathe in the crisp morning air. The forest is calm, animals still sleeping. It makes Stiles miss his mom. She used to take him out of the towns boundaries and they’d collect berries and mint leaves. They even went out at night a few times, in the summer. She was the best at finding the perfect trees with sky openings to lay and watch the stars.

“Stiles-” Scott’s voice is soft, pained.

And just no. Not today, not right now, “-Nope, just no dude. K, it’s still morning, it’s your birthday.”

Scott swallows thickly and shifts around on the grass. Stiles knows he lost him because his lips thin out and he glares at the mountains. Scott could be more stubborn then him.

“Stiles, you’re-”

“Nope! No, not listening.” Stiles doesn’t care if it’s childish, he does it anyway. He even covers his ears in mockery.

“Stiles!” Scott shouts and grabs at his wrists, “Just, Please.”

Stiles clicks his tongue and glares at Scott’s forehead. No way is he looking at his face, those puppy dog eyes get him every time.

“No, it’s your birthday. This is the deal Scott, not until the afternoon.”

Scott lets go and they go back to staring out into the never ending horizon. They’re leaning on each other again and the silence is long, but Stiles can feel Scott’s unease. He knows it’s coming, Scott isn’t even a little bit happy today. He’ll just keep lingering on his thoughts, he’s rigid with them. Stiles sighs in defeat.

“You’re my best friend, dude.” Scott rushes out, like he’d been holding his breath too long.

Stiles leans into Scott’s side more, enough that he rests his head on Scott’s shoulder, “you’re mine.” He whispers back.

“Take care of my mom, ok?”

Stiles nods, Scott’s shirt is soft and thin.

“Take care of my dad ok?” Stiles asks back and Scott rubs his head.

This is what they do. Every year on Scott’s birthday.

“I kissed Allison yesterday.” Scott says.

“I haven’t kissed Lydia yet.” Stiles replies.

Back and forth, slow and quiet they tell each other everything they can think of.

“I’m scared.”

“I wish my Mom was here.”

“I totally cried for hours last night.”

“I can’t cry anymore.”

Just small things, truths. Things they wouldn’t admit to otherwise. But it helps, if only for a little while.

When the sun is high and they are all talked out or cause Scott can’t think of anything else to say, they stand and brush the grass from their pants. Scott changes into his new shoes and leaves the old ones in the flat grass his body made. He’s shifting around in them, as if trying to get comfortable, but Stiles knows that’s not it. He’s known Scott’s shoe sizes since they were five.

“ _Scott_.” Stiles elbows him in the side.

“I love you.”

Stiles snorts and pulls Scott in for a tight hug. He rubs the back of Scott’s neck and breathes in. Scott always smells like the woods, crisp and piney, “Love you too, bro.”

They walk back in silence. Stiles pretends he doesn’t see Scott wipe at his eyes and Scott ignores Stiles’s constant brushing against him as they go. They stop at Scott’s place for a bit; toss around an old, small leather ball for a while. Mrs. McCall calls Scott in eventually. Stiles hugs Scott close again for a while and pats his back in a mainly way as they part to make up for it. He smiles stupidly at Scott.

“It’s gunna be ok.”

“Yeah,” Scott mumbles, he glances down the road, Allison’s house just a few minutes away.

“She won’t get picked.”

Scott just nods and kicks at the ground, dust floating up.

“It’s gunna be ok, Scottie.” Stiles says again, because sometimes Scott needed to be told more than once to relax.

"Yeah..."

“Happy birthday.” Stiles quips back and punches Scott’s shoulder playfully.

 Scott looks as if he’s about to cry, “Happy hunger games.”

Stiles feels like crying too. He hates Scott a little bit for sounding so defeated. He hates himself for thinking that.

He has to rush back to his house and he knows he misses the dirt under his toes and fingernails during his rushed bath. He doesn’t really care though, it’s not like looking nice will suddenly give him a free pass. No one is going to gasp in amazement and say ‘don’t you look so handsome and clean. We’ll discard your name from the raffle.’ He has to wear one of his Dad’s dress shirts now, it smells like him and Stiles’s chest aches. He hadn’t seen his Dad all day. But that’s how it is. His Dad is a peace keeper, one of them assigned to stay in the district. His Dad used to tell him that he can’t remember District two all that much, he was assigned young. District twelve is as much a home to him as any other place. It’s where his wife and family were. He used tell Stiles that every time he asked and then his mom died. Stiles doesn’t talk to his Dad much anymore.

The notification bell is loud and Stiles brushes out a few more wrinkles in his Dad’s shirt. He looks in the mirror and wipes off a stray eyelash.

“It won’t be Scott.” He says to himself, “it won’t be Allison.”

He leaves the empty excuse for a house, wishing his Mom was there for him to hug.

It’s the same as last year and the year before. Dust kicks up and the sun doesn’t warm the chill that clings to everything in district twelve. Stiles ignores the herding cattle feeling as his finger is pricked for the fifth time. He looks for his Dad, but he doesn’t find him. Stiles knows he won’t, his Dad never comes to the reaping. He only came to his first one, when Stiles’s Mom was alive. But now it’s just too painful for him to come and even watch. His Mom had committed suicide on his first one. She’d panicked the morning of the reaping, convinced that Stiles was going to be chosen. She hung herself in the woods. Stiles couldn’t remember his first reaping. He just saw her face the whole time, afraid, desperate, and broken.

Strawberry hair catches his eye in the bright sunlight and he ducks around people to walk behind the short redhead.  

“You look beautiful today, Lydia.” He says, smiling at her with a fake cockiness.

She glares at him and gives him a small shove toward the boy’s side, “go away Stilinski, “she hisses.

Stiles ignores the sting in his stomach and skips ahead to Allison, wrapping her in his arms. She smiles sadly at him, but squeezes his middle hard. She pats his cheek, “keep Scott calm for me.”

Stiles nods and flicks her noise before scurrying over to the boy’s side. He doesn’t pay attention to the speeches or the mayor.  Instead he ducks around people, smiling innocently when they catch him slowly moving around the square. No one says anything though; everyone knows that Stiles isn’t trying to sneak away. He’s done this every reaping. By the time Stiles has snuck around enough to stand next to Scott, their district representative is speaking into the microphone. He mumbles jokes and sarcastic remarks as the ever familiar history film plays. Scott more than once has to duck his head to hide his snort of laughter.

They sober up as the only victor for district twelve comes onto stage. Deaton is the only name Stiles can put to his face. He’s a shorter man, dark skinned and sullen looking. Middle aged.  Stiles has never heard him speak at any of the reapings, or show any interest at all. He usually just sits and stares out at nothing. He wants to know what made him that way, but the games have a toll on everyone.

Two large bowls are brought out and a huge tension rushes across the crowd, its time. Scott shuffles closer to him. The girls are always chosen first. Their district representative, Stiles for the life of him can’t remember her name, clears her throat and walks over to the bowl on the right.

Scott grabs his wrist, a silent plea. Not Allison. Stiles can hear Scott ‘s voice in his head. He says it aloud for him, “Not Allison.”

“Lydia Martin.”  The name echoes from the mic.

Stiles forgets how to breathe, he turns to look at Scott, his surprise mimicked on his face. A small sob from the girls shakes them out of it in time for them to see Alison’s hand being pulled from Lydia’s by peace keepers. Scott nearly whimpers, he wants to go to Allison. But he can’t. Stiles feels a tick of guilt, he forgot to say ‘not Lydia’ this morning. He _forgot_.

Even in the face of death, Lydia is stoic and unemotional. She walks gracefully down the aisle, quickly; her hair bounces around her shoulders. She looks stunning and out of place in district twelve, but up on the stage, she looks like she belongs. Beautiful, hard, dangerous. She’s even smirking a bit, as if she had just won the best house in district twelve.  She could win, Stiles thinks. She _will_ win.

It takes a moment for the crowd to shuffle back into place and the clicking of heels on stage winds up Stiles’s heart. He swallows and thinks, not Scott. Not Scottie. Don’t take him away too.

And then his name is ringing in his ears. Scott’s hand is back on his wrist, so tight Stiles knows there will be bruises. He blinks, and his name is called again. The boys around him part so he can get to the stage, but Scott won’t let him go. Stiles is numb and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He didn’t wish for himself to be safe either. His throat feels like led and Scott’s hand is too warm on his wrist. He’s frozen.

“Scott,” he whispers and tugs his wrist.

“No.” Scott looks desperate, afraid. He won’t let go and there are capitol peace keepers coming now, “no!” Scott shouts a little louder and then Stiles can’t breathe because Scott’s got his strong arms around him and is screaming at the peace keepers. They wrestle him away from Scott quickly and Stiles barely manages a murmur,

“Allison” as he is shoved past her to keep walking toward the stage.

He can hear Scott’s anger yelling after him and Allison’s broken voice trying to calm him down. Everything else is tuned out. He doesn’t even hear his own footsteps up the stairs. He somehow manages to flail and almost trip on the last one though, even in his state of shock.

Lydia snorts at him. In his place next to her, Stiles can see Allison with her arms around Scott, barely holding him still. He’s not shouting any more but he looks as if he’s going to book it up to Stiles any moment. There’s a bit more talking and then Stiles has to shake Lydia’s hand. She doesn’t smile at him, just stares him down. It gives Stiles a cold rock in his stomach. They’re taken into the town hall, Stiles gets one last glance at the hills on the horizon.

He waits in a small room by himself for a short moment before his Dad bursts in the room. He pulls Stiles into his chest and holds tight, stroking the back of his head too hard to be comforting. They don’t say anything, Stiles can’t and his Father won’t. He’s near tears and all he can think about is what his Dad is going to have for dinner and breakfast tomorrow. Stiles knows Scott will look after him, its one of their promises to each other. They said it earlier that day. But Stiles’s worry doesn’t still and he clings tighter to his Father.

His dad presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls away. He brushes a thumb under his right eye.

“You have your mom’s eyes, kiddo.”

Stiles swallows, even now, his Mom haunts his Dad. But he knows what he means; his Dad tells him he looks like his mom all the time. It’s comforting, knowing something of hers is with him all the time. Stiles pushes back into his Dad’s arms before the door opens and his Dad is being ripped away from him.

“I’ll win!” Stiles shouts after him, a last minute promise, “I’ll win for Mom.” But the room is empty.

Scott and Allison jump through the door a second later and Stiles can barely breathe, they’re holding him so tight.

“You can win,” Scott mumbles in his ear, “dude, you _can_ win. We hunt and we always pester the keepers to grapple. Your Dad taught us, Stiles. You can win.”

Stiles is watching Allison as she shakes and stares intently at the floor. Had she gone to see Lydia yet?

“Lydia…”

How can he win when he has to kill Lydia? How can he come back when he has to kill his best friend’s girlfriend’s best friend? How can he kill the girl he's in love with?

Scott grabs his face, “no, dude. You have to win.”

“Scott-”

Allison pushes Scott over and snakes her arms around his middle, “you have to win Stiles.” She mumbles against his chest.

Stiles doesn’t get the chance to ask her why.  Why him, doesn’t she want Lydia to win? They’re whisked away just as fast as his Dad. Stiles can feel a panic attack coming on. His vision is fuzzy and his mind is all over the place. His chest is tight and he just wants to give in. He misses his mom.

Allison’s voice rings in his head.

There’s a chill in the air.

It’s Scott’s birthday.

 

 

 

 

___

Notes:

Guys, I can't stop reading/watching The Hunger Games, or Teen Wolf. I might have a problem. :/ It's a good problem though. Ha.


	2. Come Away to The Slaughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It figures Stiles would want to suck face with a fellow tribute. How can he ask someone out for dinner and then kill them with no hard feelings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word thinks Stiles means 'a Stile'. It's tots amusing. Also, Derek and Kate are eighteen, otherwise they couldn't be running around the arena with Stiles and where's the fun in that? :)

 

 

Deaton isn’t anywhere in sight on the train car and Lydia is just staring out the window as if she were the only person in the room. For a second, Stiles wishes Allison was sitting there instead of Lydia. Or more impossibly, Scott. But then it would mean their inevitable death. Their district representative, Morrell,  that’s her name, comes in with Deaton on her heal. She encourages them to sit together, which takes more than one bicker for Lydia to move from her spot. Stiles is a little put off by how differently Morrell is than the other district representative. She isn’t as crazy with her fashion taste, her hair a relatively normal dark red and no touch ups or implants on her face. Even her make-up is less intense then Stiles remembers others having. She keeps touching him and Lydia, as if to reassure them. It’s annoying. It’s like the Moms back home that click their tongue sadly at him and pet his head, pitting him cause he has no Mother.

Morrell is going on and on about the things they’ll get, how amazing the Capitol will be. It boils his blood knowing that Scott couldn’t even afford a new pair of shoes and in the Capitol there are probably tons of them that never get sold. He growls a bit pathetically to let off some of his anger and Morrell stops short. She looks more hurt then angry, he’s determined not to let it guilt him. Lydia doesn’t look at him at all, probably pretending a noisy ghost was next to her instead.  Deaton gives him a curiously look and leans forward, a small smile on his face. Stiles is taken back by the sudden emotion and grows itchy when Deaton doesn’t look away. Morrell doesn’t either.

“What?” he blurts out, he hates when people stare. It’s all the moles dotting his face, they’re distracting.

“I know Morrell can be…a handful at first. But she does have a few insightful things to say.” Deaton finally speaks; a look in his eye tells Stiles that wasn’t what he wanted to say though.

Great, secret eye conversation, he is terrible at those.

“Unlike you,” Lydia snips, “I didn’t even know you knew how to talk.” She’s more bitter and cold then usual and Stiles thinks he might have misjudged how affected she is at being chosen.

Deaton gives her a look, but doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he stands, “come on. You both need to see this.”

Lydia grows tense at being ignored and a flicker passes through her eyes that confirm Stiles’s misjudgment. She’s afraid. Probably more afraid then Stiles is.

Morrell looks offended that Deaton doesn’t want to sit around and talk about how the Capitol is a treat for them. She doesn’t follow them.  

The car Deaton leads him into is pretty much the same, but there’s a large screen at the back. Deaton motions him to go sit in front of it.

“Get settled, this will take a while.” Deaton hurries out of the car and leaves Stiles alone. Lydia hadn’t followed them.

Everything in the train car is so rich of color and delicate looking. He’s nervous and twitchy around all of it. He breaks enough things as it is, he could never pay for anything in here if he broke it with his flailing. Well, he supposed he could pay in blood; it’s what he’ll end up doing anyway. There’s four chairs curled around a small dark coffee table at the end of the car. They look uncomfortable, but when Stiles sits down he can’t help but moan a little. He’s never felt anything so soft. If he wins, he’s stealing these seats on the way back to District Twelve.

Deaton comes hustling back in and spreads a few tiny silver disks on the coffee table. He’s talking already, mostly to himself. He’s sure Lydia would give Deaton an odd look, but Stiles gets it. He talks to himself all the time, it helps him think. Deaton stops muttering and stands up strait. He claps his hands together and rubs them, looking thoughtfully at Stiles, as if he isn’t sure where to start.

“The most important thing is to know you’re opponent.” He settles on.

“Morrell says it’s getting sponsors.” Lydia voice floats from the doorway. She’s got a plate full of food and is slowly popping grapes in her mouth. She’s still glaring coldly.

“Yes, but you won’t be able to do anything about that until we get to the capitol.”

She frowns and turns to leave, obviously more interested in Morrell’s advice. But Morrell isn’t their mentor; she’s a citizen of the Capitol. Stiles doesn’t see any need to speak to her more than necessarily and certainly not about The Games.

“I think you’ll really want to hear this,” Deaton calls out. She doesn’t come back in. Deaton looks discouraged but Stiles knows otherwise.

Lydia Martin has a thing about being told she is wrong. She’ll never admit to it but she can easily recognize when she is. She does this thing that everyone at school calls ‘Martin-turn around’. She’ll fake being uninterested, go away and pretend to pursue what she thinks is correct. A few seconds later, just long enough that it seems she rethought about it and decided that she came to her own conclusion that she was wrong before, waltz back, head held high. As if she had been right all along and just changed her mind.

Stiles smiles at Deaton and counts down the seconds in his head.

Lydia storms back in with more food on her plate a minute and a half later. Deaton seems a bit surprised, but he doesn’t say anything.

Stiles turns around in his chair and smiles widely at Lydia, “oh good, Lyds. You’ve deemed story time the correct path.”

She huffs at him instead of glares, progress. She makes it a point to sit in the chair farthest from him though.

Stiles knows at once what Deaton’s about to show them, other Hunger Games. It only made sense. It would be stupid of a mentor to show them the history film that everyone sees at the reaping and to just make them watch something to take their mind off the The Games is a stupid choice too. Deaton seems keen on getting a start on his mentoring and that could only mean one thing. Study opponents, every move, every breath, probably until they couldn’t watch any more. He can already feel a headache coming on.

“These are past victors, it won’t help us to study them, and we won’t be fighting them.” Stiles points out before Deaton starts the first disk. He doesn’t want to do this. Scott and him never watched back home. They ran out in the woods instead and hunted and shoved each other around until they were laughing too hard to stand.  

Lydia snorts at him, “No shit, dumbass. But you can probably guess a basic amount of technique based on their district. Like how careers usually go for traditional weapons; swords, bow and arrows, exedra.”

Deaton looks impressed, “you can also guess at what the rest of the tributes will favor based on build and height and district.”

Stiles really hates how all of a sudden it is Lydia and Deaton team up time on him. Sometimes he didn’t understand how he comes off so stupid. It’s probably all the flailing.

“So, we’re watching the reaping tapes too?” Stiles asks. He’s not sure if he wants to meet everyone he has to kill just yet.

“We can, but it would be better to see the rest of the tributes in person.”

Stiles hated that everyone refereed to them as ‘The Tributes’.

“I think we should watch the tapes, by the time we get to study them in person, it will be with weapons of choice. I want to see if I can guess correctly.” Lydia says and Stiles thinks it’s a bit unfair how quickly she is warming up to Deaton when he barely even gets a hello and she’s know him for years.

Of course, Deaton is their mentor. She does have a reason to be nice to him.

Deaton gives them a crash course in each district and what they specialize in. Throughout most of it Stiles rolls his eyes because they learned all this in school, but he bites back the sarcasm after Deaton gives him one too many irritated glares. From that they start watching the last six years of Hunger Games. By the end of the fourth Stiles is feeling queasy and discouraged. Even Lydia has lost some of her composure. The flicker of fear in her eye is back when she looks out the window between loading minutes.

They finish the last two disks in the next couple of hours and its dark out by then. Stiles knows the moment he’s alone he’ll throw up, the last two years of The Games had been particularly gory.

“Ok,” Lydia says and she swallows extra hard, “I think that’s enough for today.”

If she had said that from the start, Stiles would have jumped right on board. But it would be best to view this year’s tributes after a fresh look. Lydia knew that, and she knew that Stiles knew that.

“No.” he speaks up, “we need to see the others now. We can sleep in tomorrow.”

Stiles looks to Deaton for help. The older man nods in agreement. Lydia glares at him, but it’s got less heat now.

They watch the tributes getting called, marking each of them that will probably be the most aggressive. District One, both of them go down on that list. Stiles eyes the way the blond girl, Erica, jumps giddily at beating out the other volunteers. He marks her as more of a threat then the boy from one. District Two volunteers are just as intense looking, but Lydia squeaks at the boy, Jackson, when the camera zooms up on his face.  

“Whoa,” she mutters more to herself than anything, “someone took a hottie with a body pill.”

“Yeah, and crazy pills.” Stiles mutters back.

Lydia throws a grape at him. 

Deaton ignores both of them.  Stiles marks down Jackson with Erica from District One and ignores Lydia, who draws a heart next to his name. He hopes she is kidding, The Games are not like school, it’s not like someone could marry, let alone date, someone they met on the arena.

District Three offers two twelve year olds by the look of it. Stiles ignores his rush of anger and doesn’t write anyone down. Four’s tributes are a young girl, maybe 14, and a curly haired teen who looks to be their age. The look on his face makes Stiles make another list; possible allies. Everyone knew that allies formed during The Games and even though Stiles cringes at making friends just to have to kill them, it is always an option and the more options he had the better. Isaac is first on that list.

Five and Six produce four more twelve year olds and Stiles feels the nausea growing. He can’t help but let out a disappointed sigh. He can’t kill kids, probably not even crazy ones. But none of them look crazy. They looked scared and helpless. He rubs his eyes and doesn’t look at the screen while it introduces District Seven.

Lydia moves to sit in the chair next to him.

When he looks up it’s into the most ridiculously handsome face ever.

“Holy shit,” he doesn’t even mutter it, he just shouts it right out, “he’s hot.”

Lydia smirks at him, “yeah, and crazy.” She nips back his words.

Stiles has his own thing about being wrong. It’s called ignoring everyone when they call him on it; it seemed to be working well for him so far. He doesn’t think District Seven’s boy looks crazy though. He doesn’t have that cold, dead look in his eyes the way a lot of the Career tributes usually do. Plus, the guy volunteered when his younger brother was chosen. No one did that, _no one_. Stiles wants to rewind the disk back a bit, but he doesn’t say anything, he just writes down ‘Derek’ under allies.

“Oh come on.” Lydia is looking over his shoulder, “you just want in his pants.”

True, but he was nice enough to volunteer for his little brother too. That counts as not crazy in his book.

“Nope, he’s staying on the good list.” Stiles risks poking Lydia in the forehead with his pencil, “besides, if I’m going to die, he can kill me, because that’s as close as I am going to get as dying a non-virgin.”

“Oh, ew.” Lydia mutters and leans away from Stiles in ridicule.

The rest of the Districts provide more kids except the boy from District Eleven, Boyd. Stiles doesn’t know where to put him on his list, but Lydia puts him down as ally, so Stiles copies her. He yawns and stretches loudly in his chair as their own District pops up on screen. He doesn’t want to hear Scott’s voice pleading again. Thankfully, Deaton seems to know that on instinct and turns off the screen,

“hey, we’ve still got to-” Lydia pips up, but Deaton snitches her pencil away.

“-sleep.” He says.

Lydia huffs.

 “Sleep. The rest can wait for the morning. Besides, tomorrow will just be more of this. We need to make sure you know your opponents inside and out.”

“That’s what she said.” Lydia mutters so quietly under her breath that Stiles almost didn’t hear her. He gapes at her anyway, because even if she denies it, he will tell everyone that she made a ‘that’s what she said’ joke. He _will._ Even if he has to tell while getting stabbed to death.

His room on the train is bigger than his room at home and it feels too empty and cold. He curls up under the sheets and stares out the window.  Stiles doesn’t sleep at all. He can’t get the other Games out of his head. He just keeps seeing the blood spilling from kids bodies and hearing Scott’s voice screaming at the Peace Keepers. He can feel his chest tightening and he has to keep pinching himself throughout the night to stop the panic attacks from forming.

Morrell comes and gets him at eight the next morning. Lydia is already dressed and eating from a large plate. She looks smaller than normal at the long table weighed down from food. He sits across from her.

“Morning.” She says.

“Morning.” He eyes her suspiciously; Lydia Martin is not that polite towards him.

“Did you sleep well?” She asks and the genuine tone in her voice is very confusing.

Stiles stares at her for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Ok,” he bursts, “what gives? You ignore me forever and all of a sudden I’m in Lydia vision?”

Lydia sighs dramatically and puts down her fork, folds her arms over each other and looks him straight in the eye.

Stiles blushes. He refuses to look away though.

“Look, you are super annoying-”

“-gee, thanks.”

“-but, you’re smart. And I need you to win.”

“Oh, so you’re just using me.”

Lydia smiles sweetly at him and picks her fork back up, “yep.” And shoves some eggs into her mouth.

“Rude,” Stiles snorts.

“Don’t worry, I probably _won’t_ kill you.”

“Awesome.”

“I’ll have Derek do it if it comes down to that.”

“So rude- _what_. You don’t even know him. Who says he won’t just kill you?”

“Hun, no one is going to kill me. I’m going to win.”

“I feel like I should be more afraid and yet, nothing, absolutely nothing.”

Lydia giggles, actually giggles at him.

He notices the dark circles under her eyes and Stiles feels that this turnaround is probably because of the endless killing spree they watched all day yesterday. Extreme death always had some kind of effect on people. He’s always suspected that Lydia ignored him to mess with his head. When they were little they played together all the time, just the four of them; him, Scott, Lydia and Allison.

He smiles back and he kicks her shin lightly under the table.

Deaton joins them within the hour and is immediately grilling them on who used what techniques to win and what District they are from and how do they transfer basic working knowledge into killing skills. By the time they are nearing the Capitol, Stiles can recite every tribute and their strengths and weaknesses and the arena from the past five games. Lydia from the past seven. They’ve also memorized this year’s tributes faces and their Districts.

It isn’t until lunch that they even mention their own skills.

“Nothing,” Lydia says, coolly, “I don’t know how to use any kind of weapon.”

But she’s smart. Real smart, Lydia can out last anyone for days. She’ll be able to pick up the arena’s kinks in minutes. Brains often out won the brawns in the games.

“Stiles, what about you?”

“Uh. I can shoot? I suck though, Scott’s way better with a bow.”

“How do get all that game then?” Lydia asks.

“Small knifes, sort of, anything small and pointy really. I’ve got a good arm.”

“You run around the woods chucking knifes at animals…that’s kinda hot Stilinski.”

Stiles beams at her and he ignores the fluttering in his chest.

“Anything else?” Deaton asks. Stiles knew he is waiting for the ‘my Dad’s a peace keeper’ moment. He doesn’t want to give it to him, but Deaton will just ask eventually. And it couldn’t hurt, admitting what he could do. He needed all the advice he could get.

“Yeah, my Dad taught me a few close encounter moves. Mostly defensive stuff though.”

Deaton nods and Stiles can see the gears turning in his head already.

“When we get settled in tonight, start teaching Lydia what you know. Something is better than nothing. And training away from the others will give you the advantage of surprise.”

Both he and Lydia nod and the silence that follows is heavy.

They hit the capitol in a sudden moment. There’s not much time to talk then, everything starts happening too fast.  He’s rushed away from Lydia and poked and prodded and stripped and pretty much molested for a good hour and a half. He’ll have nightmares from his ‘beauty ‘crew for days. No one should be allowed to make their own implantation decisions. It is _so_ wrong. It isn’t until after he’s met his fashion leader or _whatever_ , that he’s reunited with Lydia. She’s dressed in the same silvery outfit he is, only she looks a thousand times better. She’s never been so clean and shiny. Her hair is even more red then he remembers and he is pretty sure it is illegal that she is wearing make-up.

“Holy shit, it is so unfair how pretty you are.” Pops out of his mouth before he can even stop it.

Lydia smiles what must be an actual really Lydia Martin smile at him.

“Thanks, not to bad yourself.” She pats his shoulder awkwardly.

He’s not really sure how the silver connects to mining, but it’s not like fashion is the important thing here. So he just steps up onto the carriage with Lydia.

“Don’t forget to wave, smile.” Deaton hushes to them, “try not to fall Stiles.” And pats him on the back before heading away.

“Rude!” Stiles calls down after him and a few people close in the stands laugh.

The ride down seems absolutely pointless, but Lydia and Stiles do what they are told. They wave and smile and Lydia draws him in close for a one armed hug. On the screen banners they look sturdy and ethereal. They’re so shinny they look like diamonds.

Oh.

Lydia giggles next to him, “you just got what we are.”

“Yep.”

He is a diamond…a _diamond_. Good luck with anyone taking him seriously now.

“At least you look pretty.” Lydia snickers, “maybe District Seven will want to tap that before he kills you.”

And _wow_ is he glad they are not mic-ed. Lydia has a worse brain to mouth filter then him.

When they finally stop at the end of the long hall, Stiles immediately stares sizing up the tributes. He sees Isaac first. He looks lost and vulnerable. Stiles honestly just wants to give the guy a hug. He has the same puppy dog eyes as Scott. A stab aches in his chest and Stiles has to look away.

He doesn’t look at the kids, it’s too hard.

Eventually he picks out Derek and then he can’t stop staring. The guy looks pretty pissed about looking like a sexy lumber jack and that his female counter part is all over him. And holy _shit_ , how did Stiles miss her? Oh right, he was drooling over Derek Hale.

“Lydia,” he mumbles, “who?”

“She’s District Seven’s girl, Kate.” Lydia gives him a look like he’s lost his marbles.

 Kate is tall and tan and slender. Her arms are sculpted and strong looking. Her hair is long and golden, cascading down her back and framing her angular face. She oozes sex and a detachment not even Lydia can pull off.  She catches him staring and smiles arrogantly at him. His stomach drops and a chill comes over his body. That look, when she smiles a little too hard and eyes gleaming too bright. She vibrates with a little too much intensity. She’s insane; he can feel it in his bones.

“Stiles!” Lydia’s snap breaks their glare down. She’s half way to the elevator with Deaton and Morrell, “come on.”

The other tributes seem to be lingering, the younger kids talking to one another. Deaton wants to separate them from the tributes as fast as possible. He feels a sense of loss with one last glance at Derek the lumber jack, but immediately feels foolish for doing so. The only person here that possibly cares he will die in the next ten days is Lydia Martin. Making friends isn’t what the games are about; it will just cause him complications. He manages not to look at Kate as he walks away.

Stiles is supposed to be impressed by the apartment building they will be staying in and the fact that they live in the penthouse. But he’s not, he just gets the same angry flare he did on the train. He skips dinner because the edge of hunger reminds him that he’s from District Twelve and he needs something to keep him connected to his home.

His room is dark and simple. A giant bed dead center and a small dresser in the corner. There’s a bathroom connected. He skips a shower, he’s too angry to figure out how to even turn it on. He can’t sleep either. He tosses around on the soft bed and grunts when his body won’t relax. He listens to Lydia and Deaton and Morrell move around the apartment and its not comforting the way it is at home, when it’s his Father moving about their rotting home. It makes his heart ache.

It feels like hours have passed when a small knock on his door echoes around the cold room. It’s Lydia, of course. Deaton doesn’t spend time with them outside of training, doesn’t talk to them about anything other than training. Stiles gets it though. He would be the same.  

“You skipped dinner.” Lydia says. She crawls to the middle of the bed to sit in next to him.

“I’m not hungry.” He doesn’t move, if anything, he curls in closer on himself. He’s not in the mood to talk, but it’s Lydia. He can’t be mean to her, not for real.

“Stiles, we’re from Twelve, we’re always hungry. It’s like our signature.”

Stiles shrugs, he doesn’t want to talk about home. He doesn’t want to talk about anything.

“You’ll eat tomorrow.” It’s not a question, she’s demanding it.

He winces slightly, “there’s not really a point.”

He expects her to get mad, it’s what Scott would do, Allison too. One time when food was particular sparse and Stiles still wasn’t that great at throwing knifes, he had just given up and sat down on a fallen tree. He told Scott that he would just starve, it didn’t matter if he lived or not anyway. Scott had punched him so hard the black eye lasted for two weeks.

 Lydia touches his back lightly instead of punching him. It’s the first time someone’s really touched him since the reaping and it brings a twinge in him. With Scott they were always leaning on each other, in each other’s space. His Dad talked to him through touch, a good job with a pat on the back, an ‘I love you’ with a neck rub. He even touches people he doesn’t know that well. It’s how he communicates and he hadn’t realized how much he missed it until now.

The over whelming hole of missing home grows to be too much and Stiles knows it will burst soon. He twists around so he can curl over Lydia’s lap. Her small hands run over his buzzed hair and she doesn’t say anything. His eyes get droopy and his mind fuzzy. He falls asleep to her gentle touch and the soft tones of her humming. In a hazy mind of sleep, he mistakes her for his Mom and he feels safe for the first time in years.

**

He wakes alone. He’s groggy and pretty sure he dreamed up Lydia being with him last night. His stomach growls angrily at him and he rolls out of bed.

He knows he probably reeks so he braves the shower. It takes him ten minutes to figure out how to turn it on and then another to change the water from freezing cold to boiling hot. He doesn’t bother turning it off, Deaton or Morrell can come in and do that. The clothes supplied to him are soft and cool to the touch and he wishes he still had his Dad’s dress shirt to wear instead. But Morrell had whisked it away along with Lydia’s dress, saying they needed to be washed.

The shirt wouldn’t smell like his Dad when he got it back. If…if he got it back.

Lydia is alone at the table; she’s watching something on a tec. pad, past games probably. Her hair is up loosely and Stiles can see the red marks of her scratching the same spot on her neck. She’s obsessing.

“Hey Lyds.” He says with a bubble in his throat.

“We need to see if we can get some kind of hint at what the arena will be like.” Her tone is serious and only half aware that it’s Stiles sitting in front of her.

It’s impossible to get that kind of information, but he doesn’t say it. Lydia is mumbling out loud, she doesn’t need someone to correct her wishes. She’s well in the know.

“Let’s just focus on what we can,” he says instead, and that focus is the other tributes.

Lydia stops abruptly and looks up at him with a pinched face, “I won’t kill you.” She says.

Stiles freezes mid bite, “um…thank you?”

“I mean it. I won’t kill you in the games.”

He won’t kill her either, she knows it. She’s probably always known it. Most people have those thoughts sometime or another, if they were paired with their friends for the games. Scott and him fantasized about if they were both chosen, they wouldn’t kill each other. Not that it was ever a worry for them; the only possible time that could happen is if the games were a Quarter Quell. He had the same talk with Allison though and a few other girls he talks to at school. It was hard not to talk about the games once he hit the age of twelve. Everyone’s life revolved around the games then.

They stare at each other and Stiles reaches out to rub his thumb over her knuckles. Deaton is waltzing in and talking a mile a minute before Stiles can tell her anything though.

Today is the first day of training and the first they get to see who really is the most dangerous. Deaton shoots them advice one after another and talks all the way down to the training center. He keeps telling them not to show off, stay in the shadows as much as possible. Stiles isn’t too worried about that though, even if he wanted to show off, he’d probably flail his way through it and not impress anyone.

After their introduction speech, it is very clear to Stiles that he is going to die in the first ten seconds of the games. The importance of not getting an infection, of staying uninjured and battling the environment of the arena is not something he will be good at. He falls down twice a day on a good day. Not to mention half of the others are so highly skilled it’s unlikely he’ll even get five feet from them before he’s shot down. He has to close his eyes and tell himself to breathe slow and deep. He plans on hanging around Lydia in the survival section and judge everyone else for the rest of the day.

Erica is favoring the bow and arrows. She snickers every time she shoots the target in the head. She’s tall too and even though she’s slender she looks sturdy. Besides, she could just flash Stiles her rack and he’d be distracted enough for her to shoot him.

 Jackson keeps up with the swords. He’s short, probably the shortest of the older males, but every single swing and move is calculated and deadly. Height isn’t really a defect for him. He’s getting chummy with Erica and the other two tributes from District One and Two. Stiles looks away quickly when they catch him watching them.

Kate is favoring the bow and arrows too and Stiles wants to know where she learned how to shoot in the Lumber District. She strokes the bow a little too lovingly and flashes her perfect white teeth at the others. She doesn’t interact beyond that though and Stiles knows why. She’s watching, judging, like him and Lydia. She’s already forming a plan in her head and that makes her more dangerous than anyone else.  

Lydia points out Boyd to him after their first break. Boyd is hanging out with a few of the younger kids from the other districts, he’s showing them how to climb faster and more efficient. Stiles doesn’t get his angle on that and he still doesn’t know where to put him on his list.

“He’s probably got younger siblings,” Lydia mutters, sparking flint into a small fire.

Boyd is easily the biggest of everyone, he’s got a height advantage and he’s built better than the Career tributes. All signs tell Stiles to watch out for him on the arena, but the gentle way he’s handling the kids blocks that all out. It makes Boyd dangerous; he could be playing it up and then change completely in arena. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened. He makes Stiles nervous.

Isaac is by himself, he’s at the mind games console and he’s failing miserably at it. He knows Lydia’s snort is in his direction. She doesn’t think Isaac will benefit them. The way Isaac’s face crumbles at his score looks so much like Scott that Stiles wants to run over to him and jostle his shoulder and call him ‘dude’. He can’t kill Isaac, he won’t either. He knows it’s a stupid choice to say that now, but he just resembles Scott in so many ways that Stiles already knows he won’t be able to even scratch him. 

Lydia stands abruptly and mumbles something about climbing and stocks off to go chat up Boyd and the little kids. He thinks it’s too soon to make a move, but Lydia is probably just testing the waters, getting friendly. She’ll do it to everyone in this room before the nine days are up.

So Stiles goes back to starting a fire and curses as his spark fails to ignite the lint. He needs to move on to a different station, he’s getting too caught up in failing at fires. He gets up and turns to head after Lydia only to crash into a very sturdy body. He flails back a bit, but it doesn’t save him, he falls straight back down to the floor. He hears the other tributes snicker and mock him.

Without even having to look up Stiles knows who he crashed into. Derek Hale is the only tribute Stiles hadn’t caught sight of yet. Sure enough, he’s glaring down at Stiles, all mass muscle and dark. Stiles laughs nervously and flails about until he’s back on his feet.

“Ha ha-sorry.” He mumbles and moves to get around Derek.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Stiles jumps and ignores the small smirk that forms on Derek’s face. He thought Derek’s voice would be deeper. It makes him seem less intense, friendlier even. But that scowl on his face doesn’t.

“O-oh” Stiles stutters out and he knows there’s a blush on his cheeks.  

Derek beckons him with a finger wiggle and Stiles kneels back down next to him slowly.

“Here,” Derek gathers more flint and hides it just enough under a small tepee of striped wood, “you just need a better environment. It’s not about striking the spark.” The fire burns to life over the wood. He gives Stiles a barely there smile and makes him build three different fire starters before he hands over the striking sticks. When Stiles’s last one sparks to flame, he woops quietly to himself. Derek chuckles at him and pats the back of his neck before walking off to the sparring station.

He spends the rest of the training period ignoring the weapons station, no matter how badly he itches to get his hands on the small throwing knifes. When the day is over, Lydia flashes Boyd and the little kids a big smile and waves at them. She’s all smiles the whole way back, but Stiles can see the twitch in her lips that says she’s faking. The second they are in the pent house, she drops the act.

“Be nice to Boyd.” She says, hands on her hips, she’s giving him the Martin ‘do as I say or I will burn you alive’ glare, “we need him on our alliance.”

“Oh, so we really are recruiting for teams.” Stiles knows it’s sarcastic, but he just spent a whole day watching people he’s already nervous about cut, slash and stab their way to earning a high score. And he had nine more days of doing it all over again.

Lydia smacks his head and rushes over to the table for dinner. When he doesn’t follow she points angrily at him and then at the food, as if that would magically teleport him next to her and he would start stuffing his face.

 He’s really not hungry.

He goes and settles on the deep comfy couches instead. He hears her scuff at him but nothing is thrown at the back of his head, so he calls it a win.  He knows Morrell and Deaton are talking to Lydia about the first day of training but Stiles tunes them out and goes through the list of allies from the train.

He places everyone from District One and Two under a new group, the Careers group. He places Kate there too; she’ll be the one to lead it.  He marks what weapons they favored as well. He hadn’t expected Erica to know how to shoot, or Kate. He’s not stupid enough to think that’s all they know. Kate at least has to know to hide some of her skills.  

He places Isaac with him and Lydia, just like before. He adds Boyd’s name to their list because Lydia will bitch at him if he doesn’t. He still doesn’t know what to think of him though. He puts Derek down on his side too, because even though he growled at everyone and stocked around like he’s going to start killing people any second, he helped Stiles make a fire. Plus, hello, _hot_.

Scott would probably deride him for wanting to side with someone because they were hot. But hey, Scott choose Allison to be on his team for red-rover just because she was pretty.

His head is throbbing by the time he’s done obsessing over who does what and who is going to be team!Stiles. Lydia’s arguing with Deaton in the background and it only makes it worse. He sneaks out of the penthouse with a silent hush when Morrell catches him doing so. There aren’t really a lot of places he can go, so he heads up to the roof.

There’s a bite to the air but Stiles doesn’t go back down for a jacket. The air isn’t as clean either, it’s thicker and it makes him yearn for the woods at home. Still, it helps his headache. Not for the first time did he wish the capitol allowed them to contact friends and family back home. He wants to talk to Scott about everything, about who to trust and how Lydia suddenly decided they were best friends.

He rubs his eyes angrily, it’s only the first day and his stress level is way beyond normal. He feels like he’ll crack and become one of those crazy tributes that go on a rampage and turn into a cannibal. He makes a note to tell Lydia to kill him if he starts eating people.

When his hands feel like they will never unfreeze he turns to go back in when the door bursts open and Derek Hale is screaming, “fuck off!” down the staircase. Stiles is frozen to the roof, eyes wide. Maybe, if he doesn’t move Derek won’t see him.  Derek whips around viscously and Stiles lets out a little squeak at the dark glare pointed at him.

“Uh, hi.”

His glare softens a bit. He grunts at Stiles and struts passed him to lean on the edge of the building.

“O-ok,” Stiles squeaks again (he rolls his eyes at himself), “I’ll just...um, later.” He gets to the door when Derek barks at him,

“You didn’t touch any of the weapons.”

Stiles turns and stares at his back, his very broad back, “neither did you.” He feels defensive.

Derek snorts, his shoulders relax a bit, “sorry,” he growls out, “bout-” he waves his hand lazily toward the door.

“Uh, its fine. I’ll just… leave?” he’s even more awkward then he ever was with Lydia. He’s going to go smash his head against a wall a few times.

Derek turns around and he looks shy all of a sudden, “no, you can stay,” he shrugs and looks off to the side, Stiles swears there’s a blush on his cheeks, “you were here first.”

And that’s kind of too adorable, he’s still not sure Derek won’t just push him off the roof though.

“I won’t push you off the roof.” Derek says when Stiles doesn’t move.

It startles a laugh out of him, “I won’t either.”

Derek rolls his eyes, probably thinking that Stiles couldn’t actually push him if he tried. He feels insulted.

“Hey,” Stiles comes to stand next to Derek, not to close though, “I _could_ totally push you off.”

“Huh-uh.” Derek says disbelieving, but he shoots Stiles a small smile.

Stiles can’t stop thinking about Derek’s face on the screen when he volunteered to take his brothers place.

“What you did,” he mumbles, “for your brother…”

Derek tenses next to him and only gives him a quick glance in response.

Stiles clears his throat softly and leans heavily on the roof’s shelf edge, “…it sucks.” He finishes lame.

Derek’s laugh is sharp and dark. “Yeah it sucks,” he says.

“I mean, it was brave and all that shit that everyone probably tells you, but it just sucks. There shouldn’t be a reason for you to give your life up.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but Stiles thinks he understand what he means.

They don’t say anything after that. They watch the city for a bit and Stiles ignores the numbing in his hands.

Eventually Lydia pokes her head through the door and shouts angrily at him, “Come eat bitch!” and disappears back into the building.

Stiles laughs nervously at the look Derek gives him, “Haha, Yeah. See ya around, I guess.”

Derek nods and turns back to the city. Stiles stumbles back down the stairs and barely hears Derek’s “See ya around, Twelve.” Before the door closes. He ignores Lydia’s smug smirk when he passes her for dinner.

He only eats a little and heads to bed. He tries not to think about Derek’s smile because that is just a stupid line to go down.

He ends up dreaming about it anyway.

 

 


	3. We are Calling for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The last night before the Games. Tomorrow he’ll be woken up early and then delivered to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know I end on Stiles going to bed a lot, but that's all he's doing now, getting up and then going to bed. :) lol

 

 

The next two days of training are just a jumble in Stiles’s head. He wakes up, eats breakfast, takes a shower (still has no idea how to turn it off) and passes around to each station besides the weapons training. The days are getting longer now that he is familiar with everything; he even gets bored around lunch time. He’s grateful for the break where he and Lydia usually sneak off far from everyone and discuss their techniques. He’s also seeping in a lot of the training. He can start fires no problem now and he picks up traps and knotting fairly quickly, faster than Lydia anyway.

Both him and Lydia get nowhere at camouflage and only spend a few minutes there each day. It’s just frustrating. Stiles doesn’t even know how it will help him in the arena, it’s not like there will be endless amount of paint for him to use. Some of the stations in the training center make him feel more unprepared.

The obstacle courses are still a challenge for him; he falls and has to start over twice as much as the little kids. He’s stubborn about it though and ignores all the snickering gracefully. If he can’t learn some balance in the next week he’ll have no chance. All his grace from hunting seems to have left him. Lydia says it’s just nerves and anxiety.

“No shit.” Stiles snaps at her and she stalks away to help Boyd learn knots.

It’s hard _not_ to be anxious; he’s in a room full of people who want to slit his throat. He doesn’t sleep much and the constant appetite he had at home has left him. He eats less than he did as a non-tribute. Every morning before training he goes off by himself and breathes deep to edge off the panic attacks. It’s not working as well any more. He’s too stressed.

The Career group sticks close to each other during breaks; they sneer and openly mock most of the others. It’s terrifying, _actually_ terrifying. Stiles wishes it were a rule for players to be kept separate right up until The Games. But where’s the fun in no drama? The whole point in letting them socialize is so friendships are made, it makes everything more exciting.

Stiles feels his low level nausea rise unexpectedly.

It’s lunch break on the third day of training and Stiles has the urge to throw his roll at Erica when she hisses at a little kid to move away from their table. He’s sitting alone for now, Lydia is off somewhere, probably chatting up Boyd, he’s been her main focus for the whole three days so far. He tries to ignore the hollering going on at the Career’s table.

“They’re a bit obnoxious, don’t you think?”

Stiles's entire body tenses. It’s something Lydia would say, but it’s not her voice. It’s too low, dragging and full of power. He knows its Kate standing behind him and it takes every once left of clam in him to look at her.

She’s smiling fondly over at the Careers despite the insult she just gave them. Right next to him she’s larger than she looks. She hasn’t spoken to anyone expect Derek this whole time. Stiles doesn’t understand her move in speaking to him. She’s obviously looking to the Careers for a group, the only reason she’s speak to Stiles is intimidation.

Of course, now that he’s figured it out, it’s working really well for her. He just wants to book it out of the center. He tenses when she slides her legs over the bench and sits down next to him. She’s close, leaning into his space without touching him and she arches her back enough to be overly attractive to passersby. He can smell her perfume, it’s spicy and makes his throat dry.

“You know, Twelve,” she says in a hushed tone, “I’ve been meaning to ask you an important question.” She touches his arm, just lightly but it’s hot, almost like a burn.

Ignoring her won’t make her go away. She’s got patience, like a predator.

He tries not to let his voice shake, “Wow, and you’ve held back for three days? Got people shy?”

She laughs shallowly and pets his head.

“I didn’t want to scare you away, it’s very important to me.”

Stiles has no idea what she could possibly want to know from him. His mind is racing trying to think and he feels like she is about to slice his neck open right here in the training center. It hits him like a ton of bricks, heavy and cold.

“How’s Allison Argent? Still crushing after puppy eyes, Scott is it?”

He’s chest tightens and he knows his body is so tense he’s shaking, “what?” he manages without a squeak.

Kate runs her finger along a small blade that Stiles didn’t notice she had with her. She was at the knife throwing station before lunch though.

“She’s my niece you know, Allison.”

What.

“ _What._ ”

Kate's smile is sickeningly sweet and she pets his neck this time, resting her hand there, “yeah. I thought you wouldn’t remember me. I used to live in Twelve.”

He doesn’t really hear that at all and just blurts out anything to get her to stop touching him, “Allison’s fine.”

“Oh, good,” her hand tights with her tone. She taps the knife against the table.

Stiles's stressed mind images her grabbing the knife and slamming it into his forehead, it would only take a second the way she has him. Her hand is tight on his neck and it feels like it's burning his skin off.  And then it’s gone and Kate is slithering away with a wave and a chuckle. He feels light headed and closed in all at once.

He’d say Kate had officially intimidated him.

Lydia’s voice drifts after him as he practically bolts from the training center. The pounding in his ears is so loud it blocks out noise and he doesn’t even remember taking the elevator up to the top floor or the stairs to the roof. The burst of cold air snaps him out of it a little.

How does she know Scott? She can’t possibly be Allison’s aunt, she’s only a few years older and she doesn’t live in district twelve. Stiles racks his brain for anything, a glance, a memory of hanging out at Allison’s, but no Kate. She has to be lying.

His legs give a little under him and he slides down against the wall. He feels dried out and too hot, panic rising. His mouth is full of ashes. Kate is like fire, catching flame and burning through him.

He can’t get himself to calm down and he hates that Kate is getting to him. If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t be this bad. He knows it. It’s just a feeling he gets from her, the too clam attitude. She knows, she can see right through him and he feels violated and helpless.

The panic attack he’s been fighting off for days finally pushes up and everything is blurry and he can’t breathe. He’s sure he’s going to die up on the roof. Just when darkness is creeping around his eyesight and his lungs can barely hold a breath, warm hands are rubbing his back and pressing gently on his chest. His lungs and throat relax a little, enough for him to realize the hands on him are far too big to be Lydia’s.

He looks up into Derek’s large eyes. He’s talking but Stiles still can’t hear him over the pounding in his ears.  Derek recognizes that Stiles is more aware, he moves his hand up his back to his neck and soothes away the burn that Kate left there. His breathing returns to normal almost instantly and all the sound around him rushes back so fast his head throbs violently.

“-k, breathe.” Derek is mumbling at him, he’s so close his head’s almost touching Stiles’s.

Stiles reaches out shakily and gives Derek a little push for space, “I-I’m good.”

Derek moves back, but he doesn’t let go of Stiles’s neck. He just keeps rubbing, his thumb brushing over Stiles’s ear. Derek’s inspecting him with caution, as if he expects Stiles to fall right back into his panic any second. He won’t though, he’s calmed down enough.  Stiles licks his lips and takes a few deep breathes. He’s mortified to taste salt. Wiping viscously at his eyes, Stiles turns away from Derek. He mumbles out thanks though.

Derek finally lets go of him and sits down against the wall with a deep sigh. He looks tired and Stiles can see the faint dark circles under his eyes. He’s stressed too. The difference between him and Derek is stark though. Derek’s a block of muscle, rivaling Boyd and his cheeks aren’t hollowing out like Stiles’s are. He doesn’t look as if he’s wasting away.

Stiles wipes the last of his involuntary tears and rights himself.

“You shouldn’t let her get to you.” Derek offers up after Stiles composes himself enough.

Stiles knew that. He’s good at not letting people get to him; it’s just the extra stress. Then again, he’s never met anyone like Kate before. He wants to tell Derek what she said, about the nagging feeling that pulls at his stomach every time Kate looks at him. And about how much he misses Scott and his Dad and the woods and meadows.

“She knows one of my friends.” he mutters. Maybe if he vents a little, just a little he can get his mind back on track.

Derek looks reluctant to reply but grits out, “she didn’t always live in District Seven.”

Stiles’s heart blips. She hadn’t been lying then. How was that even possible? Stiles has never heard of people moving districts unless they were Peace Keepers. There had to be a very serious reason for her to move, and only her. Allison’s entire family is still in District Twelve.

Derek nudges him with his knee, “breaks almost over.”

They head back together in silence.

Kate smirks at him the moment he’s back in the training center. He feels a flicker of panic in his sternum, but Derek pats his back before heading over to the mind games console. Stiles’s panic disappears instantly. Great, the one person besides Scott and his Dad that can rid his panic attacks is his opponent. Stiles is guessing a theme here.

Lydia comes bounding over and steers him over to the plant identification section. She doesn’t say anything, but there’s a worry glint in her eyes and her lips are pinched tight. She’s worried _and_ mad at him. Stiles is not looking forward to dinner.

Isaac is all by himself when they get there. For everything the curly-haired teen is bad at, plants seem to be his thing. Stiles doesn’t really get that either, District Four is supposed to be an ocean District. But, there are planets everywhere so Stiles can’t judge all that much.

Isaac is fidgety and winces when he and Lydia get too close to him. Lydia gives her usual snort in annoyance. It flares anger in Stiles. She treats Isaac like the Career’s treat them. Stiles gives Lydia a little push so she flails a bit on the pads of her feet. She glares dangerously at him. Stiles turns his back and gives Isaac a wide, bright smile.

“Hey.”

Isaac flinches so hard he drops the plants he’s arranging. Stiles winces, maybe that was too forward for someone like Isaac. He tries again.

“So, you’re pretty good at this.”

Isaac gives him a wary look but manages a small, shy smile as thanks. All attempts to get him to talk fails after that, but Isaac stops flinching when Stiles brushes by him at the end of the day.

Lydia has her ‘I’m on a mission’ face set and Stiles really hopes he’s not her mission right now. He’s tired and after having a panic attack in front of a tribute that wasn’t Lydia, he feels vulnerable. When she rushes off to her room to change, Stiles grabs an apple and rushes the opposite way, out of the penthouse and up to his usual spot now, the roof.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see Derek hunched over the edge, it seems to be their thing, meeting up at the roof. Never the less, Stiles stops for a moment in consideration to just go back and deal with Lydia and give Derek his space. The ghost touch of Derek’s hand on his chest makes him slouch over to Derek instead.

“You know, this was my spot first.” he teases and it feels more intimate then Stiles wants to admit.

Derek’s eyebrows just lift in a sarcastic, ‘yeah ok bitch’, arch.

Stiles bites into his apple. It’s loud and he knows his face flushes as he chews.

“Anyway-” he draws out the ‘y’ in the awkward silence, “thanks for earlier.”

Derek smirks, “you said that already.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t all there and, I dunno. You could have just left me alone.”

You could have just let me fall apart, is what he means. A terrified tribute is just one more easy kill. Derek stares hard at him, his gaze burning. He hears the unsaid meaning.

“I’m not like that.” Derek finally says.

Stiles thinks he means he can’t ignore someone who needs help. The extra hard thump his heart gives makes Stiles hate himself a bit. He can’t possibly be falling for this. He’s being really stupid.

“Good, someone should be.”

“Do you get them a lot?” Derek avoids the compliment.

“What?”

“Panic attacks.”

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, the back of his mind is warning him not to admit yes, but his mouth always has a mind of its own.

 “Yeah, ever since my Mom died,” Derek gives him a pained look. Stiles barks out a dark laugh, “Yeah, dude. I know, sucks right. I’ll probably get one the second we start.”

“You don’t know that.” Derek tries to encourage him.

Stiles shrugs, an emptiness fills his chest every time he thinks about dying in the Games.

“I’m not going to win. I know it; everyone else knows it. I can’t even finish the obstacle courses. At least if someone kills me off during a panic attack I won’t know it’s happening.”

Derek is staring hard out at the city; his jaw is clicked shut, tight. His tendon jumps in his neck. Stiles throws his uneaten apple over the buildings edge. Both of them jump when it comes sizzling back, burnt to crisps and bounces over their heads onto the roof floor. Startled laughter is shocked out of both of them.

“Oh my god, dude.” Stiles says, he has to wipe his eye, “that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Derek is leaning over the edge to look down, “I didn’t know they used force shields. Figures, they wouldn’t want us escaping.”

Stiles wonders how many fences the Capitol puts up in fear of rebellion.

“If they just ended the Games, there wouldn’t be a reason for the Capitol to fear rebellion.” Derek says, clearly thinking the same thing as Stiles.

Stiles looks around and hushes Derek harshly, “dude, you can’t say stuff like that.”

Derek shrugs, “Why not? I’m going to die soon anyway.”

Stiles clicks his tongue and stares at the burnt apple on the floor.

Night closes in fast on them and Stiles is visibly shivering when Derek bids him goodnight. He stays up a little longer, looking for stars. The Capitol’s light pollution is too thick to see more than a few and he heads inside before he starts thinking how sad his Mother would be about that.

He sleeps surprisingly well for the stressful day he’s had. He doesn’t even dream.

The next morning he feels relaxed and refreshed, an energy buzzing through him he hasn’t had since before the reaping. His shower is extra satisfying and it eases his muscles. He even manages to turn it off. Feeling limber and clam Stiles greets Lydia with a hug and an apology. She bites her lip in anger, but accepts the hug all the same.

They eat breakfast in silence, or at least he does. He’s starving and he can’t believe he hadn’t been eating this much since day one. He and Lydia head down to the training center early. Most of the others aren’t there yet. Lydia skips off to the mind games and before Stiles can follow, Derek steps in front of him, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in a scold.

“Heh-hey, Derek.” Stiles realizes it’s the first time he’s actually called Derek by his name. It feels like meeting an old friend after a long time.

“Come with me.” And he pulls Stiles by the collar of his shirt. Stiles flails about the whole time and yells for Lydia when they pass her.

She just smirks and gives Stiles a wink. Seriously, _ridiculous_ , does nobody realize they are going to start bashing each other’s heads in soon?

Derek lets go when they get to the obstacle courses.

Fuck.

“ _Fuck._ ”

Derek rolls his eyes and grabs the back of Stiles shirt when he turns to get away, “nope. You are learning this.”

Stiles actually _whines_ at Derek, loudly. It catches Isaac’s attention and the blond chuckles. He smiles kindly at Stiles before Derek is shoving him at the start of the course. He gets through it with only two falls this time. _Score_.

Stiles doesn’t know what happened, but things seemed to have changed overnight. He’s feeling more confident and it could have been his repression of his panic attack that brought on the first miserable three days. Lydia was right after all, he just had to have an attack to move past his anxiety of being chosen for the games. It still sucked, he still is scared shitless, but there’s something in his chest that keeps him level headed now.

Apparently, whatever it is, it’s contagious because Isaac keeps looking over at him and giving him encouraging smiles whenever he falls. Derek barks at him to get up and start over, but he’s consistent and it’s the first time he’s stuck with someone for more than an hour. By the fifth run through, Stiles gets his foot trapped in the climbing net and flails around until he falls too the hard floor below. He winces when Derek hauls him up.

Stiles is aware that nearly everyone keeps watching them, it’s mildly embarrassing and he hates the way Kate is mock-smiling at him.  

Derek pushes him to the start again, but instead of standing back to watch, he starts running through the course with Stiles. He talks the whole time too, saying which place is best to grab hold of first on the rock wall, how to maneuver quickly over the climbing net and slide down without getting rubbing burns. It’s slow and a bit awkward whenever Derek has to move Stiles’s body around for the correct movement, but with Derek’s help, Stiles finishes the course without falling.

Derek pats the middle of his back in praise.

They run through the course together twice more, still slow going, but less awkward, before lunch break is called. Derek follows Stiles to a table and sits down next to him. Stiles smiles into his sandwich.

Lydia bounces over with Boyd on her heals. She slips onto the bench with ease across from Stiles.

“So, Stiles,” she taps his hand, “I see you’ve managed the obstacle course.”

Stiles resists the temptation to flip her off, “so _Lydia_ , I see you’ve managed to be a snarky smartass.”

“Whoa,” She says, mimicking Stiles’s offended face, “ _rude_.” She fails to not smile right after the mock though and collapses into giggles.

Stiles snorts a laugh and kicks her shin under the table.

Lunch is a little weird after that. Between Derek and Boyd, the awkward silences are big enough to last for days. Lydia and Stiles push through it though and Stiles notices Derek’s shoulders relax a bit near the end of the break. Lydia has apparently made good friends with Boyd, who seems open to talking about his skills and how well he’s doing in most of the training areas. Derek doesn’t say anything.

Stiles knows Derek is kick ass at the obstacle course though, and he knows his survival skills really well. Derek doesn’t have the highest score in the mind games, but he’s not stupid and his trapping skills are killer. But Stiles doesn’t let on to any of this. Derek hasn’t said anything, so he won’t do it for him. When they get up to get back to training, Stiles notices Isaac had been sitting at the end of their table, hunkered over his food. He flashes Isaac a big smile to let him know it's ok to sit with them next time. Isaac blushes and gives a nod back.

Stiles doesn’t have time to do any of the other sections because Derek won’t let him out of his sight. They do the obstacle course for the rest of the day and Stiles is sore and hurting when training is over. He doesn’t fall anymore though and his speed has gotten a little better. The last three runs he did without Derek. He stood below Stiles the whole time though; ready to grab him if he fell. Their lunch time group reconnects with the tag along kids that Boyd is determined to stick by. Isaac shifts on the soles of his feet nearby, in ear shot.

Lydia rushes out a loose schedule that she thinks will fit everyone, but she does it so casually no one takes it seriously. Technically no one is supposed to make groups before the games start.

Derek makes Stiles promise to meet him early, _really_ early.

Stiles sleeps so well that night he doesn’t even complain when he has to get up two hours earlier.

**

A fight breaks out between Erica and the girl from District Two after lunch on the last group training day. It’s a bit nasty. Erica gets a split lip and the other girl gets a nice shiner on her cheek. The two of them take out their anger on the sparring section, both roughly sparing with the trainers.

It sparks a snicker out of Isaac and Lydia finally cracks a smile at him.

Isaac sits right next to Stiles at their evening break.

Their last three hours of training together is spent hovering around the sparring section. Derek beats the Careers there after break and Boyd rushes over for back up.

Stiles lets loose a bit and it throws the trainer for a loop when he’s suddenly thirty percent better than he was yesterday. Lydia woops at him and Derek looks mildly surprised. When it’s Isaac’s turn, Derek barks out helpful tips and Stiles nudges Derek with a teasing elbow. Besides the fight that broke out the last day together is uneventful and clam.

Until Kate’s cold rasp screams around the center. Stiles is alarmed, the last two days have been almost fun and he forgot about Kate completely. She had been hiding in the shadows this whole time.

Everyone stops to watch her scream at Jackson for getting in her way. She’s still got a sword in her hand and the trainers look panicked that she will stab Jackson with it. It’s the first time Kate has shown any emotion besides arrogance.

Derek is tense next to him.

It takes a bit before the trainers get Kate to let go of the sword. She goes for Jackson anyway.

The night ends with a reminder that Kate can easily take Jackson down with a few punches. Jackson, a Career who had the highest score in weapons and sparring.

Derek lingers on the elevator, like he doesn’t want to go to his apartment. Stiles almost suggests they go up to the roof for a bit, but he loses his nerve and Derek gets out with a mumbled ‘night.’

Stiles lays wake until Lydia crawls into his room and asks if she can sit with him for a while. Kate’s outburst a fresh reminder that this isn’t supposed to be fun.  They both fall asleep with uneasiness on their minds.

**

The Gamemakers have come to score them. Tomorrow will be their official session with them. Stiles is all jittery, he hasn’t thrown a knife in a week.

He doesn’t see Derek at all that morning either. He wasn’t up on the roof and he wasn’t going to chance going down to his apartment and ask to talk. From here on out, it is individual time. Their little group that had formed would have to wait to be reconnected until the arena. And that’s if they choose to be part of a group at all.

Stiles trains with Lydia in the living room until Deaton comes and gets them for the scheduled private training down in the center. It feels weird without Derek there.

Deaton tells Stiles to spend the whole hour throwing knives. He has no objections.

The knives provided are small and black, light, a good weight on the handle to make them soar through the air. His first couple of throws don’t hit his preferred target, just a little too much to the left or right.

He gets a direct head shot within the first ten minutes and then it’s like he never stopped. By the time the hour is up and it’s Lydia’s turn, Stiles has a nice burn in his arm. He wants to keep going.

“Holy shit, Stiles.” Lydia says, “That was so badass.”

Stiles shrugs, “I would be better if I hadn’t stopped for a week.”

Deaton chuckles and hands Stiles an ice pack, “keep your muscles relaxed.”

“Are you kidding?” Lydia talks over him, “ _better_. You’d be _better?_ You throw knives better then Kate!”

Damn right he did. Knives are his thing.

“I told you I had a good arm.”

“Yeah, that’s more than a good arm.” Lydia mumbles and picks up a larger dagger.

She told Deaton if she had to pick up some kind of weapon; she wanted it to be close range. She chose Deaton’s weapon of choice when he was in The Games, daggers. Lydia spends the hour learning basic stances and defensive strikes. She takes pretty well to it.

Deaton dismisses them for dinner and tells them to come down at eight for their next private scheduled training.

They run into Derek and Kate in the waiting area on their way to dinner.

“You guys are training together?” Stiles blurts out without thinking.

Kate smiles and sashes up to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bumping her hips with his, “why, jealous?”

Stiles ignores the burning under her hand and glares at Derek. Derek doesn’t do anything, just stares straight back, face blank.

Stiles huffs and wiggles away from Kate and roughly brushes against Derek to get in the elevator.

“Have fun!” Lydia smiles as the door closes.

He lasts about ten seconds.

“I don’t get it! Why is he training with her?”

Lydia sighs, “Stiles, it probably doesn’t even matter. They grew up together; they probably already know what they can do.”

Stiles still feels a sting of betrayal. Derek is supposed to be on their team. Not Kate’s.

He crinkles his nose at himself. There are no teams, not really, not in the Hunger Games. He’s being stupid, just like he’s been stupid this whole time.

“Whatever” he mumbles and doesn’t talk to Lydia throughout dinner.

Their next session, Stiles throws so many knives so violently his shoulder is throbbing painfully. He switches hands, just to prove that he can at least throw left handed a bit.

He hits the targets dead on half the time with his left arm.

He doesn’t go up to the roof.

He just goes to bed.

**

The next day is their last day of training, and their only chance to impress the Gamemakers.

Stiles is still fired up from yesterday. He’s anxious to get to show off and let off some steam. He spends most of the morning going over defensive movements with Lydia because this is the last chance they’ll really get to focus. They both agreed on their day off before the Games they would rest their bodies and minds for a fresh start.

After lunch they are called down to the training center and Deaton tells them not to be discouraged if the Gamemakers are distracted.  They are taken down a hallway with waiting rooms; each room marked one through twelve. Lydia and Stiles wait in room twelve together. When it’s clear to them that their waiting period will be much longer then everyone else’s, they run through the past arenas and what they had in common.

His Father told him they had the same arena twice in a row once, for a mix up, but it ended up with a really boring Games the second time around. Since then every arena has been completely different, that was their only similarity. Stiles doesn’t tell Lydia he thinks it’s pointless, she needs something to focus on to calm her nervous.

Stiles is still too pissed at Derek for nerves. He doesn’t get why he would train with Kate. He spent the whole time away from her and so pissed off he couldn’t even talk when he was with her. Unless, Stiles’s stomach dropped, that had been Derek’s plan all along. Get chummy with the weaker tributes, pretend to despise the obvious winner. Then turn against everyone and team up with Kate in the arena.

Doubt poked holes in his theory though. Derek had volunteered for his brother. He had helped Stiles through a panic attack, taught him to strengthen his balance and speed. Was it all acting? Did he have the same crazy look in his eye that Kate had and Stiles just missed it because of Derek’s stupidly good looks?

He's seething with doubt and anger when Lydia gets called in. Stiles jumps from his seat and hugs her tight,

“Good luck.”

She smiles wickedly, “I’ve already won, sugar pie.”

And she practically skips out the door.

Stiles tries to focus on the fact that Lydia called him sugar pie instead of Derek’s sudden shift.

Lydia’s time impressing the Gamemakers seemed to flash by and the light in the small room lights up and his name echoes over the intercom. He takes a deep breath and steps through the opening door.

The training center is smaller now, with the balcony seating much closer. The Gamemakers are chatting amongst themselves, but nearly as much as Deaton had said they would.

The only thing out is the target range and a nice shelf of throwing knives. Stiles swallows and walks up to the shelf. A few of the Gamemakers have noticed him and a hush falls over the room. They are watching. He doesn’t know how throwing a bunch of knives is going to be impressive enough for a high score, but he doesn’t care, he just needs to let off some steam.

He pretends the targets are Kate… and Derek, but mostly Kate. Once Jackson. He gets so stuck in taking out his aggression he forgets there are Gamemakers watching. He throws fast and hard and as many knives as he can. He goes through all the knives on the shelf in under ten minutes. His breathing is fast and dark and he knows his anger is radiating from him. That can only be good for him; he probably looks just as intense as the Careers.

Every single one of his knives had hit dead on target. He barely glances at the Gamemakers, he just struts out and tries not to kick the door in a rage.

It’s dinner time when he gets back to the penthouse. Deaton and Morrell are trying to get Lydia to elaborate on how her session went. She looks mildly displeased with herself.

“-I wouldn’t worry too much,” Morrell is saying, “Gamemakers always try to look unimpressed.”

Stiles wants to know why she thinks that, Morrell doesn’t seem to up on what actually happens in and around the Games.

Lydia frowns, “I guess.”

Stiles sits down without a word and starts shoveling food on his plate. He doesn’t even really see what it is, he’s starving. Lydia taps his shoulder with an ‘ah-hem’.

“What?” he asks around a mouth full.

“Your session? How’d it go?”

He shrugs, “fine, I threw a bunch of knives around and then left. I didn’t stick around to chit-chat.”

Lydia’s lips go tight, “do you think you’ll get a high score?”

It’s obvious she’s avoiding her own session and Stiles’s bad mood is still lingering, he’s not up for twenty question just so Lydia can avoid discomfort.

“Do you? You seem disappointed.” He asks back instead of answering. Lydia’s eyes narrow and she whips her gaze from Stiles.

“No, I did fine.”

Deaton leans forward over his plate a bit, watching Lydia with one of his understanding stares, “you do seem disappointed.” He echoes Stiles’s words.

“I’m not,” Lydia snaps, “I got a perfect score in all the mind games and I even had time to get through the planet identification test.”

Stiles knows why she’d be upset about that. Sure, she’s smart, really smart, but the Gamemakers look for strength and weapon skills, not how fast someone can match the same picture. She won’t get a high score, not like some of the Careers will. It’ll make her look weak and Lydia hates that.

It’s also a bit of the truth. Lydia has hardly any experience handling weapons and she can barely block Stiles’s slow offensive hand strikes. To win, Lydia will have to rely on others to keep her safe and kill the rest. Stiles feels bad for getting annoyed with her now. He swallows his food thickly.

“Don’t worry then, you’ll keep us alive.”

And she will. Most of the Games is just surviving out in the wilderness.

Lydia just stares down at her food. She excuses herself early and Morrell gets up to follow her. Stiles doubts she’ll have anything to say that will make Lydia feel better though.

He’s left alone with Deaton.

“How did it really go?” he asks, his voice low.

“Fine, honest,” Stiles pushes his plate away, he’s getting too full, “I wasn’t really paying attention to the Gamemakers.”

Deaton nods, “tomorrow will be your day off and the day of the interviews-”

Right, interviews. Stiles wasn’t looking forward to that.

“-you can sleep in for a bit, but you’ll have to start getting ready around noon.”

Stiles nods more to himself then Deaton.

Lydia will be good at the interview, she’s not very friendly, but she knows how to charm people and she’s great to look at. It should cheer her up for a bit.

Around an hour later, Morrell manages to get Lydia back out to the living room where they all settle down to see their scores. Waiting for the actually reveal of them turns out to take a little over an hour and Lydia and Stiles are leaning into each other as one big ball of nerves by the time it happens.

District One tributes both get an even ten. Jackson gets a ten as well, but his female counter part gets a nine, still really good. District Three are kids and they get low scores of six and five. Isaac manages a seven, not that great for an older tribute, the fourteen year old girl gets a seven as well. District Five and Six also receive low scores.

Stiles tenses up when Kate Argent ‘s name is said and there is a long pause after it. He knows it’s not going to be low, not by a long shot. When the announcer says eleven, Stiles's blood freezes. Kate got an _eleven_ , which hardly ever happens.

He’s tense for Derek’s score too. Which, _holy shit_ , turns out to be an eleven as well. Mr. Lumber Jack was definitely holding back during training, by a long shot.  Out of what Stiles saw from him, he guessed a nine, ten maybe, depending on whatever his weapon skills are, which Derek kept a secret throughout the week.

Again, he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

It’s a little sad how low everyone else is getting ranked, everyone but Boyd (high score of ten) gets a six and under.

Lydia is so tense she’s shaking when her name is announced. She scowls so hard she can give Derek a run for his money, she scored an eight. Not terrible, but not what she should have gotten.

Stiles doesn’t have time to comfort her as his name is the last to be called. He holds his breath and when the number nine flashes on screen, he flinches in preparation for Lydia’s hit. It never comes though; she just mumbles congrats and flees the room. Stiles gets up for a shower a little while later, Morrell’s and Deaton’s compliments just buzzing in his ears.

His shoulder start throbbing in the shower and he lets the hot water pour over it for longer than necessary. He’s glad for the break in training; his shoulder can rest up good tomorrow and be fresh and ready for the Games the day after. It hits him then, he’s really in this, he’s really going to die. He waits for the rush of a panic attack but it doesn’t come. He can’t feel anything except the throb in his shoulder.

He goes to bed with a blank mind. When he wakes in the morning, his pillow is wet and he must have cried sometime in the night, but it doesn’t remember.

No one is awake yet but he can’t go back to sleep. He pulls on the most comfortable sweat pants and pads around in his bare feet for a bit. He’s restless but he doesn’t feel like going to the roof. Maybe he’s allowed down in the training center, just for a change of scenery. He doesn’t expect the elevator to slow to a stop when he’s near the bottom floors, but it does. For a moment he’s anxious that it’s Derek that’s getting on, but the floor it stops at is four.

Isaac’s tousled hair sticks up in the back like Scott's and some of Stiles's numbness melts away. Isaac looks tired and it takes him a moment to realize someone else is on the elevator. He lets out a yelp when he finally does.

Stiles chuckles, “Hey,”

“Hey.” It’s quiet, but it’s the first time Isaac has actually said anything to him.

“Up or down?”

Isaac gets a panic in his eyes before he visibly relaxes; obviously thinking Stiles had meant something else besides the elevator.What that was though, Stiles has no idea.

“Down.” He replies quiet and Stiles has to resist cooing at him.

They are quiet the way down.

The training center is empty now, no equipment and no trainers. It looks much bigger and darker. The corners seem to get swallowed up in the darkness of early morning. It’s still better than the penthouse. Isaac seems to disagree, his eyes shift around to any shadow, probably expecting something to jump out at him. His body is curled down enough to remind Stiles of the way Scott does the same in the woods at night, constantly looking about for danger.

Stiles snorts and regrets it immediately, Isaac gets an offended look on his face.

“Sorry,” Stiles back peddles, “you just remind me of a friend.”

And he really needs to stop telling the other tributes his feelings and secrets. But it seems to be the right thing to say because Isaac brightens instantly. Stiles isn’t sure if he’s taking it as a compliment or as knowledge. Isaac could easily take that to mean Stiles will hesitate in killing him. Yet another stupid move on his part. He can’t seem to stop wanting everyone to like him.

Out of nowhere, Isaac springs a question on him that will only deepen his foolishness.

“Did you have a panic attack the other day?”

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, making Isaac the second tribute that knows about them.

Isaac is quiet for a moment, watching the sun peeking in between buildings.

“I get them too,” he admits, “I passed out on the train ride here.”

Stiles concern that Isaac will use his anxiety as a strategy dims. His trust in Stiles seems to be instantaneous and Stiles is yet again reminded of Scott. He doesn’t care if Lydia doesn’t see him as a valuable team member, Stiles is not going to ignore Isaac in the arena. He’s just about to tell him so, but a loud clatter gets both their attention and one of the trainers pokes her head in and kicks them out, saying the center is off limits now.

They go back to their apartments parting with a vagueness they both want to settle, but don't.

Lydia is up and Morrell is corralling her around the living room when Stiles steps in. There are dresses and make up bags everywhere. Stiles is more than happy to not be a girl in the Games. They seem to get hit in the face with more of the fashion side of it. His own Stylist (he really can’t remember her name) is waiting for him. She whisks him away to his room, where his bed is piled with clothes as well. While he’s prodded at from his own team, Stiles can hear Lydia bitching about her nails being scrubbed so hard. It takes almost no time to rid the little hair that has grown back on his body from his arrival, most of it is his happy trial on his stomach. They don’t rip the hair off his arms, but they make it stand up straight with an electric currant and shave it down. Stiles hardly ever notices arm hair on anyone and finds this to be particularly annoying. Having shorter arm hair is not going to get him sponsors or help him kill someone.

They pluck at his eyebrows some, making them a bit thinner than before and put concealer under his eyes to hide the dark circles. They even go as far as putting faint hazel eyeliner on him, which he will _not_ admit to thinking it makes his eyes pop. His hair has grown some and they shave it down back too its normal buzz cut, it hadn’t grown enough to do something with, just to make him look awkward.

After that they strip him and he’s being forced to try on suit after suit, outfit after outfit. Eventually his stylist decides on a black blazer, a deep red shirt V-neck underneath and black fitted dress pants with deep red dress shoes that match his shirt. They tilt his head pack and put eye drops in his eyes that make them burn for a moment and then cool instantly. When he looks in the mirror his eyes are shinning a bright honey color like they do in the summer sun.

He’s shuffled out into the living room to wait for Lydia, who is still getting her hair done. He tells her not to go after Isaac in the arena. She scoffs at him but can’t put her normal glare behind it because of the wall of hair in her face.

Deaton comes in and starts demanding that they not hide their friendship with each other. Stiles has no problem with that, he wants the Capitol to know he won’t kill Lydia. He wants them to know he won’t kill Isaac either, and Derek.

Stiles startles himself with that thought. He still feels confusion at Derek’s motives to train with Kate, but he can’t get past the last few days with him. His anger from yesterday is melted by now and he honestly doesn’t think he will go after Derek, only if he has too.

It takes another two hours to finish Lydia’s make up and picking out her dress. By that time Deaton and Morrell are rushing them along, afraid of being late.

The interviews are done a bit different every year. Sometimes all the tributes go out on stage together and wait their turn, sometimes they are brought on stage one at a time. This year seems to be the lather. The line of the tributes is colorful and a bit blinding to look at. Some of the girls' dresses are so flashy Stiles thinks the audience will be blinded with all the lights on them.

With everyone lined up, the twelve year olds stick out like a sore thumb. They are awkward in dress clothes and some haven’t even grown into their features yet. He doesn’t have time to think about it then because someone is ushering Erica on to the stage and he turns his attention to the screens so he can watch.

Erica is a little slutty in her tight blue dress and golden curls falling around her face. She keeps leaning over slightly to show off her breasts and Stiles thinks it’s a bit desperate of her. She answers with a smug smile and her interview is up quickly.

Stiles tunes out most of the other interviews after that. Kate gets his attention though, she flirts just the right amount with the audience and she isn’t desperately trying to be sexy like Erica. She’s naturally that way and she obviously knows. He feels more nervous after she finishes.

Derek has his default scowl on when he steps on stage and Stiles can’t help but tune in for his interview. He’s wearing an all-black suit and his hair is gelled back, longer then it normally and soft looking. When he pulls out a hundred-watt smile Stiles can’t believe it’s Derek he’s watching. Derek on TV is a happy, flirty, easy going Derek. It only refuels Stiles anger from yesterday. Derek is a good actor; he’s likely to get a lot of sponsors the way he’s going.

When he’s asked about his stand in for his younger brother, Derek reserves himself a bit to the Derek Stiles knows. He talks about his large family in District Seven and how he was the only one young enough to take his brothers place, so naturally he did it. Stiles can’t help but believe that answer. If there is one thing real about Derek, it’s his genuine need to protect others. It’s hard to spot in him, but it’s there under all the growling and brooding.

Stiles is just back to confused when Derek leaves the stage. So much that he doesn’t react badly to the light arm grab Derek gives him as he passes by.  

Everyone’s interview flies by, even Lydia’s, which Stiles can’t remember most even as he’s watching it on screen. When it’s his turn the lights blind him and he barely manages to keep steady on his feet. It’s not too hard once he can actually see again; he just laughs along with the audience and plays up his sarcasm in the right spots. He’s asked stupid questions like what does he think of the Capitol; questions he can’t answer honestly because they’d probably shoot him on the spot.

It’s brought to attention that his Father is a Peace Keeper back on Twelve and that will only make the other tributes hate him more. But he talks about his Dad when asked and he talks about Scott, even though Stiles has to push the conversation that way. He just has to tell all of Panem how awesome Scott is and how much he misses him and loves him. That way, Scott could have more than ‘Lydia’ as his last words said to him.

And then it’s over. He’s curled up on his bed, listening to Lydia rattle off last minute strategies and theories about the arena.

This is it. The last night before the Games. Tomorrow he’ll be woken up early and then delivered to die.

He wishes he could have talked with Derek one last time, before he finds out how wrong he is about him.

 

___

Notes: And then the games begin! Which, come on honestly, is the real reason why everyone reads The Hunger games. :)


	4. In The Shade of The Night We’ll Come Looking For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The circular platform under his feet slowly pushes him to the top of the tube. When the top opens, light pours in and he’s blinded from the sudden sunshine. The Games have begun.

 

 

Lydia has a new determination despite her unwanted score at breakfast. She’s her calm and composed normal self. Stiles can see her indifferent mask slip on while Deaton says last minute advice, mostly encouragements, not anything tangible.

Stiles has a hard time keeping anything down. He drinks as much water as his nerves let him; he knows too many die off from dehydration right away. They wait anxiously for their shuttle to come. Lydia keeps telling him to look at her for guidance the moment they rise from underground. He tries not to snap at her that he knows, he doesn’t need her mad at him at the start.

Deaton heads down with them to the ground floor when its time. The shuttle is already waiting for them. He expects the other tributes to be on it when he and Lydia get on, but there is no one else. He guesses that makes sense, separation in case someone is feeling too twitchy. Deaton chats non- stop as the shuttle flies, nearly half an hour. He doesn’t stand with them when the shuttle lands though.

“Don’t turn on each other, look for water. Stay as far from everyone else as you can.” He says in a rush.

Stiles and Lydia are taken off the shuttle not a second after. They wait for a moment; the shuttle’s wind giving them chills as it takes off, before a woman comes out with a large needle. Stiles has a mini panic attack, a million things flash through is mind to what the needle has in it. Poison, drugs, but Lydia stills him with a hand touch. It’s their trackers. Stiles tries to hold back his surprise that they inject trackers into the tributes, but from Lydia’s expression, she either knew or guessed. Wouldn’t want them to get away if someone somehow managed to escape.

It’s just as painful as it looks and Peace Keepers separate him and Lydia before the ache fades away. They lock eyes for as long as they can until Lydia is blocked from Stiles’s view. He’s escorted down a short hallway into a small concrete room. It’s empty expect for his clothes on a medical table.

 He doesn’t know how much time he has so he pulls everything on quickly. The pants are form fitting, but thicker then they look. He gets long sleeved under armor and a V-neck black shirt to pull over. His shoes have deep teeth in the souls, which are good for traction and they are a comfortable fit. He’ll have no problem keeping balance or moving in them. The rain jacket is thin, with a tall collar and hood that has a point at the top of the opening, probably to keep the rain from his face. He’s wearing so much black he’s sure he won’t be able to hide any other time except for night.

And then he waits. He’s so anxious he can’t stop pulling at his clothes, bouncing his leg up and down, pulling at his lashes. The sudden voice that starts a countdown startles him so much he bites his tongue, hard. He can taste a bit of blood. The large, clear tube stares him down and he wonders what would happen if he didn’t get in it in time. Would they wait for him to build up enough courage to get in or would Peace Keepers barge in and shove him in the tube? Or just shoot him on the spot?

He debates just waiting to see. If he’s going to die anyway, why not make it quick and by strangers. He thinks of Lydia, who doesn’t know how to use weapons and her chances of winning without him, drop by half. He thinks of Isaac and his Scott resembling mannerisms. He thinks of Derek and all the time he wasted teaching Stiles on getting stronger instead of bettering himself.

“He still got an eleven.” Stiles mumbles.

The little voice that whispers, _’I can win_ ’, in the back of his brain makes him rush into the tube before it’s too late. It’s the little bit of hope that he can go home to his Dad and Scott and Allison that makes him rush into the games after all.

The countdown reaches one and the tube’s door slides shut and Stiles’s heart is going to beat out of his chest. He’s shaky and twitchy and he’s glad no one is around to hear his deep breathing. The circular platform under his feet slowly pushes him to the top of the tube. When the top opens, light pours in and he’s blinded from the sudden sunshine. He forgets what he’s being pushed into for a moment and shuts his eyes to block out the searing sting. He stops moving when he opens them again and he has to blink a few times for his eyes to adjust to the light. The first thing he registers besides the sunny blue skies is the clear air, a slight breeze, a perfect summer’s day. How unfortunate.

The next is that he is surrounded by rubble and ruins. Grey, ancient looking pillars shoot high, some knocked down, eroded over time, or in this case the Gamemakers. There are large boulders and half walls and falling apart arches and large entrance ways. Simple buildings that have been abandoned to nature. The grass that the ruins lay upon is short and in patches. The ground looks dry and dusty where there isn’t any.

Stiles shakes himself, realizing there is a countdown until he can step off. Thirty seconds left until he can move. He starts looking around for the other tributes, but he can’t see anyone over the ruins and boulders. It takes him a full ten seconds to realize that there are supplies thrown casually around the ruins, some in places that look impossible to reach. A shine catches his eye, barely peeking out over the half torn down wall that is planted in his way.

The cornucopia lies straight in front of him.

If the ruins weren’t surrounding him, he’d be not even twenty feet from it. Most of the supplies and weapons will no doubt be gathered there. The ruins give a false sense of security; more tributes will likely head inward toward the cornucopia with it. Stiles can feel his mind itching to do so as well.

It’s the last ten seconds of the countdown and Stiles catches sight of strawberry blond hair to his right. There’s only one person with that color hair. Lydia is right next to him, about ten feet is seems. That means the other tributes are near as well, he just can’t see them. Are they all dropped in random within the ruins or are they lined up in an arch like normally?

Five seconds left and Stiles turns to face Lydia’s direction. There are a few fallen pillars in his way, but he can scramble over them to get to her. It’s the large ass boulders that her hair is peeking out from behind that will be a problem.

The countdown ends and Stiles rushes off his platform. He can hear the others footsteps falling fast. Lydia’s hair disappears and Stiles has to hope the ruins clear out a bit when he gets to her spot. He flies over the first two pillars and scrambles over the last one. He has to duck around three large boulders in a mini maze before he comes to the spot Lydia should be. Her round platform is there, but she isn’t.

Stiles hopes she didn’t go for the cornucopia. He has the urge to call out, but that’s a stupid choice to do. Instead, he goes with another stupid option. He scrambles up onto one of the boulders, getting his hands cut up as he goes. He nearly falls once he reaches the top.

He’s not too high, but he can see more of the cornucopia now. The ruins look to be circling it and Stiles keeps seeing the tops of tributes heads dashing to the center. He doesn’t catch sight of Lydia. He’s climb wasn’t completely wasted, the boulder next to him has a pack resting on top, it’s in jumping distance. He can make it if he doesn’t think too much of the damage he could cause if he fails. He takes two running steps before jumping, landing firmly on the edge of the other boulder. He scoops up the pack and throws it on his shoulders. There’s a smooth side to this boulder and he scrambles to his butt and slides down till his feet hit the ground with a loud thud.

He has no idea which direction to go in. All he knows is that the cornucopia is not where he wants to be. He scrambles to Lydia’s platform and stands facing the center. Since the ruins are in a circle, he wants to head directly behind him to get out of them, if there is an end to them.

He hesitates, still wanting to call out for Lydia, but then turns in the other direction. Going straight back gets hard, he runs into ruins too big to scale over or pass below. He gets stuck a few times and panics before scrambling over a few walls. His hands are bruising and bleeding and aching. He really wishes he had gloves. He wants to check his pack, but he’s wasted enough time looking for Lydia and climbing over the wrecks. Others will have made it to the cornucopia by now and start hunting around for others.

There’s a scream behind him only seconds after that thought. He swallows and scrambles over another half wall. He ducks around and weaves in and out of stone as fast as he can and then suddenly he’s out in the open. The end of the ruins are a clean cut and transform into waist high green grass. It’s as if a circle is placed inside another circle, the cornucopia dead center of it all. Ten feet of grass and another clean cut turns into woods. Deep, tall woods that remind him of the ones back home.

He rushes across the grass without another thought and straight into the woods without stopping. Once he’s in them he sees they are not quite the same as his own woods in District Twelve. There are large red woods that shoot so high he can’t see the top. Moss covers the ground and trees and hangs off their branches. Ferns jut out from the ground and English Ivy grows in large patches, climbing up trees and over moss. The forest is dry and cool though, it’s not a tropic environment and Stiles can breathe good in the clean air.

He starts walking in deeper. There are other trees besides the red woods, pine, oak, maple, and others he can’t identify. There are tons of good climbing spots though and Stiles mentally whoops; this is his type of arena.

He can’t hear screams or the clashes of weapons any more so he picks out a deep dip in the ground to sit in. Its deep enough that if someone ran by, they wouldn’t see him against the tree unless they fell right in. He skids down easily enough and whips his pack around to his front.

There’s strong tent fabric bunched up, but that’s a stupid thing to make. Anyone would pick out a tent easily. He can use it as a canopy up in the trees maybe, if he gets mud to camouflage it. There are some matches, an empty water bottle, and climbing rope. A lot of climbing rope. No weapons, no food, and no water. Stiles sighs and sits, listening to the forest.

Without some type of blade it’ll be hard for him to make a wood spear or any kind of point for hunting. He stuffs everything back into his pack and stands, brushing off the dirt and leaves and sticks from his pants. He could wait for a bit and then head back to the cornucopia for more supplies. Or he could get the sharpest rock he can find and slowly start carving away at trees and wood. Or he could ignore his need to eat and drink and look for Lydia. None of them sound great.

He chooses the stupidest one and climbs up out of the little dip. He’s heading back to the cornucopia. It’s only been about twenty minutes since the games have started, tributes could still be popping out of the ruins. The only reason he made it out so quickly was his panic to get away. Many of the others wouldn’t be able to climb over the walls like he had.

He hates that he owes Derek for that.

He jogs until he can see the waist high grass peeking in between the trees. There’s no one around him yet, but he needs to be more quiet this close to the supplies. When he gets to the edge of the woods he hides behind a tree and lowers himself to the ground. He crawls into the grass, even in all black; the grass is thick enough to hide him in broad daylight. Anyone panicking to get away wouldn’t see him.

He only has to wait a few minutes when footsteps draw closer from the ruins. Isaac pops out, stumbling into the grass. The surprise of the sudden openness that Stiles felt is reflected on Isaac’s face.  He’s got a slash on his cheek that’s still bleeding and he looks to be carrying a different colored pack then Stiles’s, its bigger too. Stiles can’t see any weapons on him. He takes a deep breath and rises onto his hands.

Time to see if their unspoken allies group holds together.

He pops up before Isaac can get over his shock of the sudden change in environment. Isaac actually falls back onto a short pillar in surprise. He hadn’t spotted Stiles lying in the grass at all. He looks like he’s about to head back into the ruins but Stiles hisses at him and shakes his hand.

“Come here!” he spits out, hoping no one can hear him. He waves his hand in the universal ‘get over here’ flail.

Isaac doesn’t waste another second. He scrambles up and dashes through the high grass. He moves gracefully, like he’s done it before and Stiles realizes it’s probably some kind of ocean grass that grows on the shores of Four. When Isaac reaches him, Stiles grabs him and pulls him down, both of them disappearing into the grass.

“Who cut you?” Stiles asks immediately, staring hard at the ruins edge.

“Erica.” Isaac whispers, he keeps looking back into the woods.

“Did she follow you?”

“I don’t think so.” Isaac bites his lip, “she couldn’t climb over one of the walls.”

Stiles nods. No one suddenly appears from the ruins for a few minutes. It’s probably safe to say Erica didn’t follow Isaac.  He shifts a bit and looks at Isaac, the cut isn’t as bad as Stiles thought at first and he looks clam, not shifty and shy like he did during training.

“Do you know if anyone’s dead?”

“A couple of the kids, I ran into the corpses. Two girls, I think District Five and Six. Their necks were broken…”

Stiles ignores the sick ache in his stomach.

“Have you looked what’s in your pack?”

Isaac shakes his head.

Lydia’s either dead or out of the ruins now, it would just be unwise to wait any longer.

“Woods or head into the ruins for supplies?” Stiles asks. He can see Isaac is tempted to go back into the ruins too, there is bound to be supplies no one has found or seen. From the fast glimpse up on the boulder, Stiles counted six packs alone just three feet from him.

“The woods.” Isaac finally says and Stiles can’t help but feel a bit disappointed.

They shimmy their way backwards and only stand when they are safely behind a large red wood. Stiles manages to lead Isaac back to the dip he hid in earlier and they both skid down to the bottom.

Isaac has two packs of jerky, an empty water bottle, tent fabric, climbing ropes, a compass, two block fire starts, and _yes_ , a small pocket knife. It won’t do any real damage to a person.

A knife is a knife though and Stiles’s mood just got a lot brighter.

They split the jerky and fire starters between them. Stiles gives Isaac half of his matches and they stare at the pocket knife for a full minute.

“You take it,” Isaac says, “I’m not good with small weapons.”

Stiles honestly couldn’t kill someone with the pocket knife, it is too small. He’d have to get up nice and close to their neck to slash for a kill. But the blade means a better chance at food and making traps and temporary weapons.  He takes the knife from Isaac and stuffs it in his front pocket.

“We should get a move on,” they’re still close to the edge of the woods and anyone could pop up.

Isaac nods and readjusts the straps to his pack before slinging it over his shoulders. They scramble back out of the pit and break out in a light jog. Stiles doesn’t know how long they go for, but eventually they slow to a walk, the woods nice and thick. It’s cool under neither all the trees and Stiles shivers a bit when his sweat starts to cool him off. They stop for a short break and nibble on some jerky when the canons start to go off.

They count ten and they don’t have to wait for night to know what tributes are dead. Its most of the kids for sure, most of them were too short to even climb over a fallen pillar. They sit in silence for a while until Isaac clears his throat and they move on.

Stiles manages to pick out two firm sticks and carves away a point as they walk. By dusk, he has two well pointed spears. It’s too late to hunt though and if they start a fire now it’ll just be asking to get killed. In the fading light, Stiles picks out two tall Bur Oaks close to each other and scrambles up their thick branches. He wraps climbing rope twice around the trunk when he gets high enough to be sheltered by its leaves. He loops the rope through the corner holes in the tent fabric and doubles it up so it can take his weight.

“Climb up the other one,” he shouts down at Isaac and is impressed by his speed as he gracefully climbs up the adjacent oak.

Isaac mimics him with his own tent fabric and climbing rope. The throw each other the other ends of their tents and create two hammocks side by side. They wrap another set of their climbing ropes to themselves and the tree so they won’t fall if they turn over while sleeping. They crawl into their individual hammock, Isaac with a bit more caution then Stiles.

They’re high up enough to be difficult to spot during the day and impossible by night with the dark blue tent cloth sheltering them. It’s a little breezy and Stiles zips his jacket up all the way, his mouth and nose getting buried under the collar. His ears are freezing and the hood doesn’t help all that much, but it will protect his head more if the wind picks up at night. He and Isaac lay facing each other, their hammocks close enough they rock whenever one of them moves.

In the silence of the night Stiles can almost forget he’s in an arena to battle to the death. There are even stars peeking out from the branches, millions of them. He thinks it’s unfair to give them a peace of clam like that, a sense of falseness. If he fell and hit his head, woke up with memory loss, he would think he’s safe out in the real wilderness.

The Illusion is shattered when the sudden blaring of the Games theme echoes across the woods. In the sky banners spark across the dome and the fallen tributes are shown. Isaac is stiff next to him and Stiles thinks he’s waiting to see the girl from his District to be shown.

She’s not. The kids from Three, Five, Six, Eight, and Nine are shown. They’re all about twelve and thirteen. Stiles relaxes enough when Lydia’s face doesn’t pop up and he reaches out to grasp Isaac’s forearm in comfort, it’s always disheartening to see dead kids.

The night is cold, Stiles wakes up three or four times from animals snapping around below them. Isaac sleeps soundlessly through the night. By morning Stiles’s hunger wakes him and his mouth is ashy. They’ll need to find water today. Packing up goes fast and Stiles is back on the ground before the sun is even fully up. The forest is still and their footsteps loud, Stiles takes to stepping on mossy areas as much as he can, softening his footsteps.

Isaac is great at identifying plants, more than once he stops Stiles from trampling through poison ivy and oak. He finds some mint leaves for them to chew on and Stiles vaguely thinks how weird it is that the Gamemakers threw together vastly different plants. There are four different oak trees alone in the forest and the red woods that are thicker then buildings thin in and out in patches.

The sun is high, casting rays between the canopies of the forest when Stiles hears the faint rushing of water. A river. They change course, south and downhill. It’s a much faster pace and they hit the river within the hour. They drink and fill their water bottles, the river looks clean enough, it’s the still water they have to be carefully about.

Isaac wants to follow the river south, cover more of the arena and Stiles can’t help but be reminded of Lydia. She’d want to do that too, map out the place, and come up with a plan. They don’t talk much; too nervous someone will over hear them and coming hunting. The woods start thinning out and suddenly they hit a wide open field, the river running straight into a lake.

They can make out the faint shapes of the ruins to their right, north. They walked in a circle, the woods section bleeding out to the lake and on the other side of the cornucopia, looks to be another forest. Even from this far, they can see the fog rolling out of it.

“A jungle.” Isaac says as they make their way across the open meadow and to the lake. “It looks east of the ruins.

Stiles nods in agreement. That means they’re dead south of the center of the arena. The woods are to the west, a jungle to the east. Stiles wonders what’s north. It’s obvious from the lake that there’s a circle of the waist high grass around the circle of ruins. Stiles was right in that theory. Further south, it looks like a desert spreads out dry and golden. Stiles can see the heat weaves rising off of it. He wants to know who is stupid enough to go there for shelter.

A loud splash catches his attention and he yelps as Isaac’s golden curls disappear under the lake.

“What are you doing?” he looks around frantic for someone to come running from the noise. But there’s no one, it’s still. Even if someone was at the ruins, it’s too far to see them from there.

Isaac’s head breaks the surface with a smile so blinding Stiles can’t help but smile back. He’s still mad though.

“Ok, now get out. You’re vulnerable in there.”

Isaac lets out a laugh and dives back under the water. Stiles grunts and slowly gets to the water’s edge. The lake isn’t that big and they are closer to the desert then the ring of grass. It looks deep though, crystal clear and a nice deep blue in the center. Isaac blossoms in the water. Stiles is itching to get back into the safety of the woods.

“Come on, it’s relaxing.” Isaac says, swimming back towards Stiles.

“Yeah and a good way to be caught off guard.”

Isaac smirks at him, “you can’t swim.” He states and Stiles blushes. No he can’t.

“There are no lakes or rivers in District Twelve.”

Isaac scoffs like it’s the end of the world. No bodies of water for Isaac is like no woods for Stiles. No comfort zone.

“I’ll teach you.”

Stiles gives him an exasperated eye roll, “Yeah ok, cause we have time for that.”

Isaac shrugs and the way the water laps at his shoulders and neck makes Stiles squirm, he doesn’t get how Isaac isn’t sinking to the bottom.

“What else are we going to do?”

“Hunt, look for Lydia. Risk the cornucopia.”

Isaac frowns and splashes some water at him, “I don’t think anyone else can swim either,” he rises out of the water gracefully and Stiles flushes, when did he take his clothes off? “It’ll be to your advantage. They can’t get you out in the water if they can’t swim.”

Kate and Erica can, if they have a bow. And Isaac is giving him puppy dog eyes now and that’s really not fair. Stiles finds himself stripping down to his under layer of under armor and underwear. He is not going to run around naked. That would be the worst way to die.

Isaac teaches him to float and tread water in an hour. After that it’s really just learning swimming strokes and practicing holding his breath. He’s still eager to get back into the woods though so he climbs out of the lake after another hour and demands that they’ve spent enough time goofing around. Isaac pouts some but climbs out and puts his clothes back on.

They head back into the red woods and hunt with the two wooden spears Stiles made yesterday. They managed two rabbits and start a fire before it gets too late in the afternoon. Stiles double checks the embers are stomped out and hidden, any bones and animal hide buried before they set off deeper into the forest.

Stiles wants to know what the desert turns into when it hits the red woods. They head in west. The woods start to change the further they get in, there are more and more angel oaks, creating an ominous feeling. The moss gets even thicker and the air gets a little damp. They stop to sleep, climbing one of the taller oaks and resting in the crook of its short trunk.

They walk half the day starting at sunrise, no tributes killed, when they suddenly hit a wall of rock. It’s sold and jagged, dark stone that is cool to the touch.

Isaac finds the first cave opening. Well, he stumbles into really, it’s hidden well. They only find others by luck and accidents. The caves are deep and staleness drifts from them. Stiles is tempted to head in and explore but he still needs to find Lydia, it’s been three days.

The caves are a safe haven though, with some rearranging of rocks and finding dead branches, the entrances will be impossible to find. Stiles scratches in a few marks two feet away from the main entrance with the pocket knife before he and Isaac head back east through the woods for some more hunting. Stiles sets traps as they go and Isaac finds berries that he’s positive aren’t poisonous. The wooden spears he made finally go useless and the only weapon they have is the small knife. They’ll have to rely on the traps for meat. When the sky starts going orange, they had back and collect two rabbits from the traps. They hide in the cave and dare having a fire, letting out the smoke a little at a time.

No cannons go off that night.

It’s another early morning when they sneak out of the caves, Stiles wants to know what’s north of the ruins and the arena is large, taking at least two days to get south. He guesses it’s the same for north, so they pack what’s left of the rabbit to go with them and hide the cave entrances.

A heat settles in, dry, and Stiles and Isaac peel off their jackets and stuff them in their packs. Even under the trees they’re sweating. Isaac drags him to the river and the follow it up north. By noon they hit the falls. They are wide and rushing loudly, the pool large and empting out into the river. Sunlight catches on the water and shines bright in their eyes.

Stiles can’t believe how calm it’s been.

Isaac takes a quick swim in the pool and just as he’s pulling his head back through his shirt, yells from up north reach their ears. Stiles goes ridged and then he’s grabbing Isaac and shoving him up the nearest thick branched tree. Before he can even get his feet off the ground an arrow misses his hand by an inch, stuck vibrating in the tree.

He looks back and sees Lydia running toward him, dried blood in her hair, looking tired and scraped up. Boyd is right behind her, a spear in his hand, his other dragging along an olive skinned girl, Isaac’s counterpart. There’s fear on their faces and then Stiles sees _her_. Kate looking refreshed and smug. A bow tight in her hand and arrows gleaming in the rays between the trees. She takes another shot; it only misses Boyd because he turns at the last second to miss an uprooted root.

Isaac jumps back down, knowing that he’s in denial if he thinks Kate didn’t see him run up the tree. They’re both frozen to the spot until Lydia is within reach, screaming.

“Run! Stiles, come on, run!”

All Stiles can think about is the pounding in his heart and feet. The trees wiz by. Kate’s arrows keep missing them, but she’s gaining on them, the arrows are more frequent. She must have more stashed somewhere because she doesn’t seem to be worried about conserving them. He knows Lydia is by his side and Isaac too. Boyd is restricting his speed for the girl and Stiles wonders why he’s so protective of her.

They are being corralled; Kate’s shooting them where she wants them, towards the center of the arena, out in the open. It’s too difficult for her to shoot them down amongst the large red woods and the speed they are running. Stiles’s lungs are burning and he keeps flailing on roots, he’s panicking. Boyd is the only one of them with a weapon, but he’ll have to stop and aim, Kate would take him out before he even gets a good line up on her. He’s worried when Lydia disappears from his side and it’s because her fatigue is catching up with her. Stiles slows and takes her wrist, pulling her along. If they don’t stop soon they’ll collapse, at least Lydia and Boyd will. They seem like they have been running from Kate for hours. Out of nowhere there’s a scream, from the District Four girl. Stiles risks a look back and sees Jackson tugging her away from Boyd, who’s got a slash down his back and is struggling to get up from the ground.

Shit, Kate had run them into a trap.

Erica jumps down from one of the trees right in his path and he has to let go of Lydia just to maneuver around Erica to keep from crashing into her. He trips over a tree root in his alarm. Erica sneers down at him, drawing her own arrow from her quill. _Fuck._

Lydia comes to his rescue though, she’s got no weapons but she’s screaming and punching and yanks on Erica’s hair to get her off balance. Erica screeches and kicks back, shoving Lydia to the ground. It’s enough for Stiles to scramble up, wipe out his pocket knife and get behind Erica. He stabs her in the shoulder and Erica is screaming ten times louder, anger blazing on her face.

Stiles hears a cannon boom and he doesn’t know who it is and he doesn’t look. He bends the flimsy handle on the knife and the blade breaks off in Erica’s shoulder. He shoves her to the ground and pulls Lydia to her feet. He pushes her to start running. He’s got a moment to look around. Isaac is dragging Boyd down south and back west into the woods. He’s going for the caves. Kate doesn’t follow them; she and Jackson are standing over the dead body of District Four’s girl. They high five and search her for her possessions.

Lydia follows Isaac and Boyd but stops when she realizes Stiles isn’t next to her.

Kate and Jackson will just follow them to the caves. They need a distraction.

“Stiles!” Lydia shouts and Kate’s eyes whip to his location and she shoots an arrow, hitting the tree behind him.

Stiles knows they’ll run after him, Kate wants him as one of her kills. He turns and books it away from Isaac’s direction.

Lydia better not follow him.

His feet sting with each step, he’s running so hard. Kate and Jackson will stop and yank the blade out of Erica’s shoulder, she can’t shoot otherwise. It gives him a few minutes head start. He’s completely empty handed though, his pack back at the falls. He shrugs off his jacket and balls it up and chucks it as far as he can to his left. It lands far enough away to throw them off his direction, if none of them know how to track.

He hears Kate’s hollers and Jackson’s hoots, but they’re still not caught up to him. His luck holds out as he runs into a field of ivy. Red woods bigger than his house stand all around him. He makes sure to run to one and duck around it before scampering off to another.

He rushes too quickly to one and flaps, slips on the ivy and is sliding down into the tree. Instead of crashing, his body suddenly drops and he’s in complete darkness. He’s not completely sure what happened until Kate and her Career’s footsteps get louder and then pass completely. He sits in the darkness, achy, scared, and alone.

His eyes adjust a bit and he can make out the walls of bark, he fell into a rotting red wood. The Ivy had covered up the hole. He regains his breath and when he doesn’t hear any cannons or voices, he stands and feels around. There’s a small hole of light peeking in about a foot from his head. Ivy is lining the soft ground and bark. He yanks on it a few times to make sure its steady before pulling himself up.

His head must be a funny sight, popping out of the ground from a field of ivy, which he really hopes is not poisonous by the way.

He’s dirty and sweaty and has absolutely nothing when he gets back onto the forest floor. He also realizes he is totally lost. Isaac and him hadn’t explored the whole northern part of the forest and Kate had chased them into unknown territory. He wants to head in west, but he doesn’t have a compass, that’s with Isaac, and he won’t make it to the caves by nightfall.

He decides on a whim to go what he thinks is east, towards the ruins. There should still be supplies. Nighttime and the ruins will give him enough cover to grab some. He takes a deep breath, pushes down the panic of being alone. He can do this.

He starts walking.

It’s well into night and after District Four girl’s picture is flashed on the dome. Only one tribute to fall today. That makes eleven total. The trees finally thin out and Stiles drops to the ground when he hits the edge. There’s no disturbance and Stiles doesn’t see any smoke or fire from the ruins. Maybe Kate and the Careers didn’t make it their hangout. He crawls half the way through the grass before feeling really stupid and just jumps to his feet to crouch the west of the way.

The ruins are extra creepy at night and Stiles gets lost twice before he goes against his better judgment. He climbs one of the taller walls, his hands getting scrapped and cut open again. The stones are at least two feet wide so he has no trouble balancing and he can see the entire cornucopia. There’s no one there. Supplies are still strained about. No one’s called the ruins their home for the Games.

He’s about ten feet from the cornucopia. He slides down the wall and does his best to keep a straight path. He has to go around a few rooms and an arch way that looks dangerously like it’s about to collapse. His chest hurts and his throat is so dry he can barely swallow.

He comes out from a ceiling-less hallway to the cornucopia and all its treasure. It rests on a small hill, ruins not touching it for two feet.  He grabs a large pack and rushes his way into the horn shaped building. Most of the weapons are gone; he hunts around for throwing knives but comes up empty handed. He does grab one of the few daggers left though, belting the hold around his waist. There are containers piled high and he rummages through them, finds two water bottles filled with water. He takes those and stuffs them in his new pack. He also finds jerky and a few apples.

There’s probably much more, but he doesn’t want to linger too long. He does look for a med kit on his way to the edge of the inner ruins. He finds a small one and shoves that in his pack too.

He slings it on his shoulder and looks up from the ground to stop short.

District Two’s girl is standing in the hallway he came out of.

“Wah- _fuck_ , that is so _creepy_!” he yelps.

“Lost little boy?” Oh, Stiles didn’t realize bad catch phrases were going to be a part of this. She smirks at him; she’s picking her nails with the edge of a large dagger. Two more are on her hips and what looks like a spike bat is settled over her shoulders.

_Damnit._

He goes for the first opening in the ruins he sees. He can hear her running after him, but he’s faster. He scales the fallen walls and slides under a pillar when a large rock comes hurling at him. It hits him square in the back and the wind is knocked out of him. He lays still for a few seconds before scrambling up and ducking around through the maze of the ruins.

He comes out in a completely foreign area. He assumes it’s the northern part of the arena because he would recognize the rest of it. There’s the expected sea grass band separating the ruins and the northern section, which is head tall golden grass. A mountain looms over the grass, purple from the atmosphere.

At least he’s got supplies. Now he just has to make it there. A sting of pain whips him around and he’s on the ground without realizing what happened. His arm is gushing blood and District Two is standing over him, her dagger shinning with his blood. He scrambles backwards into the grass. She only lets him get a few feet before landing a hard kick on his back as he tries to get up. Stiles grabs a handful of soft dirt that is hidden under the grass and throws it in her face. She yelps and drops her dagger.

She’s on him in seconds though and they’re wrestling about. She bites him a few times and with his injured arm she’s got the upper hand. Stiles’s training seems to fly right out of his head and he’s just landing punches and elbow shots when he can. She over takes his arms eventually and she’s sitting on his chest, heaving in air. She laughs a happy breathy cackle and taps his wrist. She’s got long fake nails on from the interview and she scratches down his arm,

“Oh, too bad. You were so close too.”

What? Stiles doesn’t know what she means by that. He shakes his whole body violently, trying to throw her off. It doesn’t work. She’s pretty heavy with muscle.

“Ge’off” he grits, because you know, it never hurts to ask. Two just laughs again.

“We promised Kate you were hers, but…” she lets go of his injured arm to drag her bat off her shoulders.

Oh god, he is going to literally get his head bashed in. This is going to hurt so bad.

The fight is all out of him so when she gets off his chest and raises her bat to swing he just lays there, looking up at her.

She never swings.

There’s a _thwamp_ and her eyes bug. Blood bubbles up and spurts out from her mouth. A cannon sounds before she even hits the ground.

He’s looking up at the stars and, _hey_ a full moon. His vision is going a little blurry from adrenaline. A large shape looms over him, chest and shoulders heaving, a huge axe in one hand, outlined by the silver of the moon.

Derek Hale just saved his life.

 

 

 


	5. Come Away Little Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lets himself cry silently in the darkness of the cave, away from the cameras and the Capitol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, you guys have been soo great! Thanks so much for reading! Sorry this one is a little later, I had a wedding to be at all day yesterday. You're comments have really encouraged me to update quickly!

 

 

“Oh my god.” Stiles breathes out. He is so glad that Two didn’t fall on him, because _ew_.

There’s an axe the size of his face stuck in the back of her head though.

Derek is still leering over him and he does not look happy. Panic bubbles in his stomach as he realizes he has no idea if Derek is going to kill him. Stiles scrambles around to push himself off the ground but he doesn’t even get his hips off when a strong arm is wrapping itself around his waist. Oh god, Derek is going to kill him and he may have joked with Lydia that it would be ok if Derek was the one that killed him, but he totally takes that back now. He squirms and kicks and he doesn’t care if it rips his gash open more or hurts the bruising on his back and chest. He just needs to get away.

Derek’s arm tights around him and he is growling, “Damnit, stop, Stiles, stop.”

No fucking way, he is not letting Derek Hale kill him. Never. He lands an elbow in Derek’s stern and the older teen grunts and let’s go. Stiles dashes for the head high grass. He doesn’t even make it two feet before Derek’s arms are back around him. His chest is tightening and he feels a panic attack coming on.

_Fucking shit._

He’s pulled back against Derek’s chest and Stiles feels his breath on his ear. Oh my god, Derek’s turned into a cannibal; he’s going to bite his ear off. Oh _god_.

“Stiles! I’m not going to kill you.” Derek’s voice is rough and quiet but assertive. His hands warm and big, holding, but not threatening.

Stiles stops, the tension leaks out of him. His chest lightens and he can breathe better. Derek lets go of him and the warmth from his body is suddenly gone.

There’s a gross smacking and squish sound when Derek pulls his second axe from Two’s head.

And seriously, axes. Derek’s weapon of choice is oversized _axes_.

“Oh my god, you are such a lumber jack.” He mutters.

Derek wrinkles his nose at the blood and flicks his axe about to get it to fly off. Nice, real nice.

“Well, this lumber jack just saved your ass.”

Whoa, Derek Hale in the Games is a sassy Derek.

Derek re-sheathes his axes, which Stiles has no idea how he got back holders for axes, and stocks back over to Stiles. He lets out a squeak and then a groan when Derek goes for his arm. The moonlight is bright enough that Derek makes a tsk sound in the back of his throat. Stiles cranes his neck to look. The gash is long and deep and bleeding all over the place.

He feels woozy. And the sudden hand on his chin that yanks his head back doesn’t help. Derek’s in his face, staring darkly in his eyes, his thumb catching his chin to keep his head still.

“You need medicine.” Derek final says. His voice is still low; as if he’s afraid someone is close by.

Which all right they could be, Stiles just learned his lesson in that.

“There’s a ton at the cornucopia.” Stiles murmurs, he’s feeling really, _really_ tired. He stares off into the ruins, trying to summon the medicine by mind power.

Derek frowns; he doesn’t look behind him at the ruins. “No, it’s not safe.”

And no _shit._ Of course it’s not safe, like there is any place in the whole arena that is safe. He doesn’t understand how Derek scored an elven.

“My pack,” Stiles remembers now that his adrenaline is crashing, “I got a med kit in my pack.”

Derek just nods solemnly at him and grips his arm, dragging him into the head high grass.

“Wait, the woods, let’s go to the woods.” Stiles protests, but he can’t really stop Derek in his state.

“No, it’s not safe.”

Stiles's brow ticks, “it’s safer than the cornucopia.”

“Still not safe.”

Stiles huffs and yanks his arm so hard he falls backwards onto his ass. Derek looks around at him alarmed.

“Dude, _nowhere_ is safe. At least I know the woods; I can’t plan, let alone _move_ in here.” Stiles refuses to get up. Probably because he actually can’t, the grass keeps pushing him down.

Derek sighs and kneels in front of him, “Kate knows the woods too.”

“What?” Stiles is real tired of people not elaborating.

“We grew up in the woods Stiles. It’s our District. Red Woods are what our entire lives revolve around.”

Nope, no. He is not giving up on this one, “So. I was there first. It’s my side of the arena.”

That sparks a laugh out of Derek, though it’s dark and slightly mocking.

“How about we get that taken care off first,” Derek touches his injured arm, “and some sleep.”

Stiles can see he won’t get Derek to go trekking around the arena now. He’s fairly sure that Derek is right too, Stiles is tired and losing blood and he’s been running from danger all day.

Derek can see he’s won the argument and hauls Stiles to his feet.

“Come on, it’s not far.”

What?

“What?”

But Derek doesn’t say anything else. They walk for a while, the moon is low in the sky and Stiles is certain its early hours in the morning. The grass slowly gets lower and lower until it’s not there anymore. A wide open meadow that is dotted with willow trees and a large pound is lit beautifully under the moonlight. The mountain is much closer and Stiles can see a tree line of another forest at the end of the meadow.

Derek leads him to the pound and around a set of particularly large willow trees. They look old and very well grown. Their branches are thick and their leaves hang down gracefully. It offers good protection and a disguise. There’s a light breeze similar to the first day and the willows sway. It’s all very pretty and not what Stiles was really expecting. It seems very un-Derek like. 

Derek catches the judging look on his face, “Kate won’t linger here. It’s too wide open. She’s uncomfortable without the woods.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose and doesn’t answer. So is he. 

He lets Derek sit him down on a flatter branch and digs around in his pack.

“Have you not looked through this?” Derek asks. Stiles knows the pack looks too neatly packed on the inside.

“I just got it, why do you think I was in the ruins, for kicks?”

Derek smirks, “why’d you go back for supplies?”

“I lost mine when Kate was chasing us down this morning.”

Derek’s head snaps up and his grin his gone, “what.” He states.

“She killed the girl, from District Four. Well, Jackson killed her, but, you know.”

Derek looks as if he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. His lips just go thin and he goes back to rummaging around in Stiles's pack. He gets the med kit, which doesn’t have any amazing healing medicine but there’s pain killers and ointment that will easy the bleeding. There are bandages too and alcohol to clean wounds.

The alcohol stings a lot, but Derek is gentle when he cleans his wound and it passes. He rubs the ointment into the wound before blood can start oozing out too fast. It feels good and cools the irritated skin. Derek does a quick wrap that’s nice and tight and gently rubs his thumb over the bandage. He’s looking at Stile’s arm with low eyes and a soft frown. His brows are pinched like he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at and Stiles's stomach does about a million flips. He’s seen Scott give Allison that look hundreds of times. Whenever she doesn’t get enough to eat, or when she needs new clothes but can’t get them. When she shivers so violently she can’t hold anything because she’s so skinny. It’s a look of wanting to take away her pain.

Stiles’s heart thumps loudly.

“Hey,” he can’t get his voice to go any louder than a whisper, “thanks. You keep saving my ass.”

Derek’s smile is small and slightly embarrassed. Out of all the smiles he’s seen Derek give, this is the first genuine one.

“You keep needing it, _Twelve_.”

Sassy Derek is back.

“Maybe you can’t resist helping me, _Seven_.”

“Maybe I can’t.” but Derek’s teasing tone isn’t there and Stiles feels his face light up like the sun. He’s glad it’s dark out.

Derek shifts around, tugging on Stiles to climb up the tree bit more. On two close branches, Derek’s laid out three tent fabric across them. They’re stretched tight so when Stiles crawls on top it barely gives, like it’s not floating in between two branches. It’s a large spread surface too, big enough for Derek and himself and probably another person. He shifts around and curls into himself when he feels a thick blanket drape over him. Stiles looks up in surprise,

“Where’d you get all this?” he asks, watching as Derek pulls out a pillow, a fucking _pillow_.

“The cornucopia.”

“Seriously? And you bitch at me for wanting to go steal supplies.”

Derek frowns, “no, just not right now. It’s not safe at night. They patrol the ruins.”

‘They’ meaning the Careers group. Stiles doesn’t have to ask how Derek knows this. It’ll be five days when morning comes that the Games have been going on. While he and Isaac were stumbling around the arena, Derek was probably watching, hiding in the golden grass and planning.

“Still, you found a pillow there?”

Derek blushes and stands on the branch looking anywhere but Stiles. He mumbles something.

“Sorry, what’s that?”

“I said _no_ , someone…sponsors.” Derek grits out and Stiles actually giggles at him.

It’s just too adorable.

“Well, glad someone likes you enough to help out.” He waves his hand at Derek to come join him.

The fabric holds strong, even under Derek’s easily two hundred pound muscle weight. Stiles is about to protest that he should get the pillow because he’s injured but Derek hauls him close and forces Stiles’s cheek on his chest.

His heart beat is strong under his ear and all Stiles can think about is cold winter nights that he cuddled up to his Dad when he was younger. A heart beat is always comforting to him. He’s asleep in minutes.

When he wakes up he’s alone and the sun is already reaching high in the sky. His arm is numb and he doesn’t feel as woozy, the blood must have clotted up. He rolls over and almost falls right out of the tree. He flails and when he manages to upright himself, he’s looking into the face of a very close Derek Hale.

“Ah!” Stiles nearly falls out of the tree again, but Derek grabs him, “so creepy.” He whispers.

Derek wrestles him out of his shirt and is unwrapping his bandage before Stiles is completely awake. The shine of a small metal container irritates his eye.

“You went to the cornucopia.” He states.

Derek nods and finishes ripping off the bandage. The wound is still oozing a little and it’s deep and inflamed. The cool air around his heated arm makes Stiles shiver.

“You went alone.” Stiles tries again, glaring hard at Derek’s bent over neck.

“They have a shift change at sunrise.”

Meaning the cornucopia was unattended. And Derek snuck off without him.

“Well, you could have woken me.”

Derek shrugs, unscrews the container and coats his fingers in the thick gel, “you needed sleep.”

Stiles hopes that isn’t another way of saying, ‘it’s too dangerous for you to tag along’. He got a fucking _nine_ , ok. He can do some damage. He’s been silent too long to ask what Derek really means, if he has an alternative meaning at all. He just watches him smooth the gel over his gash. His arm cools down immediately and the slight fever-y feeling cloaking his head starts to soak away. He sighs out tension he didn’t know he was holding on too.

Derek coats a good half of the container on him before bandaging him back up with the last of the medical kit. His wound won’t heal in minutes, a few hours though and it will be gone completely. He watches Derek’s gentle touches and movements with him and their surroundings and he can’t help but compare him to Kate. Her power hungry smirk still fresh in his mind.

Kate is friendly enough, when she wants something, and she’s all rough. Stiles doesn’t think she could be gentle to save her life. But Derek, there’s something in his touch and large eyes that deflects the threating size of his muscles and his broody expression. They are similar in one clear way, power. Kate and Derek are both powerful, but Derek doesn’t command it. Doesn’t seek it, not like Kate does.

He wonders if that’s why Derek decided to train with Kate on their last few days before the Games.

He wonders it out loud.

Derek looks up from his axe, he’s cleaning the lingering blood off the blade. His stare is tense and hiding something that Stiles can’t quite guess. He doesn’t answer.

“Derek, why’d you train with her?” Stiles says again and is more accusing. He knows Derek is aware of it. They have a stare off until Derek gives in and mumbles,

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Stiles snaps, “It looks like you are teaming up with her.”

Derek snarls at him and Stiles sees some of that power, “I’m _not_.” Derek’s got him by the shirt collar now that Stiles has put it back on.

“I don’t believe you.” Stiles just needs to know. He does. If he’s going to lead Derek straight to the caves, to Lydia and Isaac and Boyd, he has to know.

Something dangerous flashes in Derek’s eyes, “isn’t it obvious that I’m not?” he raises his voice and a roughness starts to claw its way in his throat, “why would I save you?”

“Sometimes it’s not always the best plan to jump right in.” sometimes it’s better to wait and betray.

Pain swirls in Derek’s eyes, making them seem bluer then normal and Stiles’s heart jumps in his chest. But he has to know if he can trust Derek.

“I just need to know Derek,” he needs to know if he can trust him. Part of Stiles already knows that he’s just being stubborn, because he trusted Derek the moment he hauled Stiles around the training center, demanding he get better. The moment Derek eased him back to breathing.

Derek seems to deflate and he rubs his temples with a sigh, “Stiles-”

A loud rumble cuts Derek off and suddenly the ground is shaking. A roar so loud Stiles is sure his ears are bleeding rolls across the meadow. The ground shakes so hard that Stiles tumbles out of the willow. His back sparks with pain when he lands and the wind is knocked out of him for a second time in less than twelve hours. His vision swims but he feels Derek drop next to him, and then he’s being manhandled to stand by Derek’s warm hands. Derek is shouting at him, but he can’t hear anything, the rumbling is too loud.

As Derek pulls him up, he gets a blurry vision of the mountain. It’s spewing huge clouds of dark ash and Stiles can see red streaks shooting up, peeking in and out of the clouds of poison, lava. The mountain is erupting. The ground is shaking so intensely now Stiles can barely stand. Derek has one hand latched tight around his arm. The other is hauling both of their packs over his broad shoulders.

And then Derek is pulling him. The ash is falling around them quickly and it’s burning Stiles’s lungs. The tree line in front of the mountain is smoking and holy shit that is some fast lava, it’s glowing and burning and heading for them in a thick, fast river.

He stumbles over his feet but Derek won’t let go of him and he’s still shouting, but Stiles’s ears are ringing. A ripping sound screams through the air and then the ground not five feet from them is being pulled apart. Their way to the golden grass is cut off. Derek stops their run just as the ground is crackling beneath them and he’s pushing Stiles back towards the lava river.

The ash is so thick the ground is covered in a few inches at least and Stiles feels like he is having the worst panic attack of all time. Derek’s hands are on his back though and their rushing to the west, towards the red woods. The ground beneath their feet is cracking and going to give at any minute.

The Gamemakers are pulling apart the earth for the lava to go somewhere other than the rest of the arena. Judging by the amount of lava spewing, the crevasse is going to be on all sides of the northern section. The thought of being buried alive by lava pushes Stiles to run harder. They have to beat the cracking earth to the red woods.

It gets so dark Stiles can only make out the glow of the lava and he’s glad Derek is unwilling to let go of him. The ripping and rumbling gets louder by the second. Heat hotter than any summer Stiles has felt is burning against their sides and he knows the lava is almost too them. He’s shoved forward, hard.

Clean air bursts around him and his vision is assaulted by greens and blues as he’s pushed through the thick cloud of ash. Derek doesn’t follow him. The ground gives one last final intense shake and Stiles slips in the movement. He’s coughing up the ash so violently he vomits up his stomach contents. It burns his throat and tears blur his eyes. His heart is racing and the earthquakes stop. The ash clears just enough for Stiles to see a large crack in the ground, lava pouring over the edge.

He doesn’t see Derek. All the sound rushes out of his ears and Stiles just keeps waiting for a cannon boom. He strains to hear it but nothing. When a hand juts up to grip the moss and soft dirt it startles a shout out of Stiles.

He’s flailing up and flings himself down at the edge of the crack. Derek has one of his axes stuck in the red woods side, his face smeared with ash and a deep burn on his right shoulder. Stiles reaches out and hauls Derek to safety.

Derek’s hunching over and coughs just as violently as Stiles, but he doesn’t hurl and Stiles is a bit in awe.

He saved them both from a fucking _volcano_ , during _massive_ earthquakes, and he _fucking_ grabbed both their packs. And his axes!

“Holy shit” Stiles croaks and he launches himself at Derek.

Derek grunts in protest to the crushing embrace, but Stiles doesn’t let go until Derek’s big arms encircle his waist back.

Knowingly back in safety, their adrenaline dims and Stiles has a sudden strong urge to bust out laughing.

“ _Fuck_.” He chuckles out instead and pulls away from Derek with wide eyes.

The burn on Derek’s shoulder is deep and bleeding all down his arm. Soot and ash cover him and spots of his clothing are burned through. His eyes are crystal clear in the darkness on his skin. Stiles just wants to hug him again.

“I take it back.” Stiles blurts out, “I don’t need to know.”

Derek eyes him.

“And I lied, I totally trust you dude. I mean, you just-with the running-and oh my god.” Stiles’s brain actually collapses on itself.

Derek’s got a half smile on his face now, as if he’s trying to keep it from blossoming into a full one.

“Oh my god” Stiles shouts again, just from pure joy of being alive. He’d take getting killed by Kate over a volcano any day. He falls back onto the soft moss and throws his hands up towards the sky, “someone better send this man some medicine,” he shouts. He doesn’t really know where a camera is, but he knows the Capitol has its eyes on them right now, “and a fucking feast. _Shit_ , an eleven my ass.”

Derek lets a deep chuckle escape him and he’s trying to get Stiles to stand up.

“You deserve, like, a score of _twenty,_ at least. Are you even human?”

Derek pats his back and shoves Stiles’s pack into his chest.

“Come on,” Derek says, “we need to move.”

Stiles can hear the smile in his voice though. He scrambles after him, pulling his pack onto his aching back.

They walk for a few hours, Stiles steering them towards the waterfalls for some much needed water. Their pace is slow though, Derek keeps stumbling and Stiles can see the burn is oozing more than blood. It’s not long before Stiles is holding Derek upright. He mumbles encouragements as they go and when Stiles’s arms are spamming from Derek’s weight, they finally reach the falls.

He sets Derek down near the pool on the flattest rocks he can find. He ruffles through both of their packs, finding the two bottles of water he snagged last night and one from Derek’s pack. He fills them both up. His med kit is all used up and the little bit of medicine from the cornucopia won’t heal Derek’s large burn. He spreads it out across the blistering skin as much as he can though. Derek’s short breathes and actual whines of pain stab at Stiles’s chest.

When he blacks out and falls into his lap, Stiles mental flails and shakes Derek until he realizes that won’t wake him up. He pours cold water from the falls’ pool over Derek’s heated skin and waits.

He goes through the pack he grabbed last night. There’s more tent fabric, which come on, did the Capitol think that is the most useful thing ever? There are a box of matches, the food he had grabbed, two larger pocket knives then the first one he had, climbing rope (again), a compass, and two small metal boxes that Stiles has no idea what they are.

He munches on some of the jerky, listening intently to the woods around him and tries to shake the ashy taste in his mouth and the slight ringing in his ears still. His hand finds itself in Derek’s hair while he waits.

Derek doesn’t stir until the sky is tingeing with orange.

Stiles manages to get them under a small overhang of smooth rock a little ways down the river before night falls in. He pulls large spare branches in front of them as much as possible before flicking out the tent fabric and curling in next to Derek, covering them both with it. The material is dark enough to mask them as a shadow in the night. They are relatively safe. He’s guessing everyone will steer clear from the northern section for a while anyways. That ash cloud had to be seen across the arena, even though it appears not to have fallen in any other section.

Derek is fidgety with a fever and wakes Stiles up twice in the night. The third time he hears a quiet pinging coming from the entrance of the overhang. Stiles manages his best to dis-limb himself from Derek and goes looking. A small container sits on the rocks, a small parachute attached to it. A slip of white paper is in the container and Stiles is surprised to see it is from Deaton and not Derek’s mentor.

_This will help him_. _-Deaton_

It’s the same gel medicine from the cornucopia, but the smell of mint is stronger. He doesn’t wake Derek to rub the gel into his shoulder, but the dark-haired tribute sighs the more he puts on his burn. Stiles falls back asleep with his arm tight around Derek’s waist and his forehead buried in between his shoulder blades.

He’s alone again when he wakes in the morning. He feels this is going to be a reoccurring theme with Derek. He’s rolling up the tent fabric when he hears Derek’s heavy footsteps.

“Hey.” Derek’s voice sounds overly rough.

“Hey,” Stiles says back and his sounds just as bad. The ash. He stuffs the tent into his pack and straightens.

Derek’s got two rabbits dangling from his hand and a pile of chopped wood under his other arm. The burn on his shoulder is smaller, not as red and crusted over.

“Feeling better?” Stiles doesn’t smirk though, Derek’s fever had gotten pretty bad and even with medicine, doing too much so soon is a bad idea.

“Come on,” Derek waves the rabbits at him with a soft look in his eyes. His own way of telling Stiles not to worry, he supposes.

They make a fire and roast the rabbits and Stiles wonders if that’s the only animal running about in the forest. Meat is meat though and they eat quickly. The skies from the north are still a bit grey and Stiles feels that Kate will com investigating since no cannons sounded. They stomp out the fire and kick away the extra wood. Stiles puts the last of the medicine on Derek’s shoulder.

They stand and stare at each other instead of hiking off in a direction.

“What?” Stiles cracks.

“We should head to the south section; see if there is anything other than woods.” Derek isn’t looking at him when he says it.

Stiles feels the low burn of anger in his stomach, “Dude, no way. We are in the woods and we are staying here.”

Derek glares at him and opens his mouth to speak but Stiles cuts him off.

“Besides, I don’t think Kate is taking refugee in this forest.”

“This forest?” Derek asks, but his irritation isn’t hidden.

“There’s a jungle on the other side of the ruins, the east side,” Derek obviously hadn’t known that. Which means he doesn’t know the south section is fields and a lake, “everywhere else is red woods, besides the northern section.” He lies.

Derek’s scowl narrows further, “you’re lying.”

“No I’m not!” Stiles sputters.

Derek’s glare doesn’t push him to the truth. But the healing burn on his shoulder does, “ok fine, it’s not. But we are safer here than in the southern section.”

Derek moves to speak again but Stiles’s anger flails and he snaps at him, “dude, no. Ok, just no. If I’m supposed to trust you, then you have to trust me.”

Derek’s brows pinch, “you don’t know Kate.” He deflects, as if he did and that is the reason Stiles should follow him around blindly.

“And you do?”

Derek just looks at the forest floor. Stiles huffs and stocks past him, Derek can follow him to the caves if he wants, but Stiles is not leaving the woods to risk it out by a lake and miles of desert. He gets two feet when Derek’s wrecked voice stops him in his tracks.

“She’s my ex.”

He turns around slowly, “what.” He states.

“Kate, she’s my ex. I know her, I know how she clicks.”

“You’re still wrong, she’s not here,” Derek looks taken back by Stiles unwillingness to give in to his reasoning; “Isaac and I hiked almost the whole section the first four days. We ran into her up by the falls, coming from the northern section.”

Derek pales, as if he just figured something out, but he doesn’t say anything. There’s a long awkward silence.

“ _Fine_ , we stay in the woods.” Derek admits.

“Good,”

“But we do it my way.” And Derek stocks past him, not stopping when Stiles exasperatedly calls after him.

Stiles eventually gets Derek to head more west and he explains about the very well hidden caves. They bicker half the hike and even though the growing irritation for Derek is strong in his mind, he keeps an eye on the still flushed cheeks of the dark-haired teen…man…lumber jack.  When they near the caves Stiles starts talking louder, to alert Lydia, and to make sure they know who is coming at them.

Derek just glares at him.

He finds the scratches he put in the cliff and moves about the branches. No one is at the very entrance of the cave, but Stiles sees tent fabric and Isaac’s pack. They only have to go in a bit further when the glow of a fire sticks out in the darkness. Stiles doesn’t know how he didn’t see the smoke rolling up the cliffs at the entrance.

Lydia is sitting with her hair down and around her shoulders, mangled and greasy looking. She’s got healing cuts on her face and arms and she’s poking the fire angrily. She doesn’t even flinch when she hears their footsteps nearing.

“You know, you can put the fire out that way.” Stiles says.

“That’s nice assface,” she snips.

Ok, whoa, Lydia is pissed at him.

“’I’m so glad you’re alive Stiles, thanks for saving our butts, Stiles.’” He mimics Lydia’s high voice, “Oh, you’re welcome Lydia.” He says in his own, a pointed glare at the strawberry blonde.

Isaac’s chuckle greets him instead and Stiles throws his pack down. Derek does the same, with more caution.

“Guys, I found Derek.”

“You mean _I_ found you.” Derek snips back, but the irritation from that morning isn’t really there anymore.

Stiles hushes him and goes to inspect Isaac and Boyd, who is curled up on the cave floor against Isaac’s side. Boyd’s slash from Jackson is much worse than Stiles thought. It’s deep and oozing blood and puss and is an angry deep red with irritation. Stiles honestly doesn’t know how Boyd is still alive.

Isaac has a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing like Boyd’s and Lydia won’t let Stiles touch her. He assumes that means she’s just fine. They’re thin and pale, tired and looking to be on their last edge. Stiles knows Isaac had at least eaten when Kate attacked them, but Boyd and Lydia look as if they’ve barely had food since the Games begun. Stiles gives them all his jerky and the apples that he stole from the cornucopia. They don’t have time to go out and set traps and hunt. They take small sips of water from their filled bottles and sit around the fire.

The day goes by with Derek spilling out the Career’s shift schedule for the ruins. They change shifts at sunrise, at noon, sunset, and at midnight. Usually Jackson takes the sunrise, then Erica at noon, then District One’s boy at sunset, and the now dead Two girl at midnight. Kate never takes the shifts. Derek also admits that the first time they didn’t do the shifts he had seen them disappear into the ruins as a group, but not back out. That had been when Kate had shown up in the northern woods chasing after Lydia and Boyd.

Stiles thinks she uses the days they guard the cornucopia as days to plan out attacks against the other tributes. Lydia agrees with him. He also voices his theory that Kate and the Careers are holed up in the jungle. Only Derek disagrees with him.

As the fire dies out, they curl up together for the night. Lydia makes sure she is right next to Boyd, asking him in hushed whispers if he’s feeling any worse or better or the same. He usually answers the same, but he’s so stoic and strong that he could be lying to keep Lydia from worrying. Derek curls up against Stiles on his left, their backs lined up and Stiles is staring at Isaac in the face, their faces so close he can see Isaac’s blue eyes in the dim cave. Stiles doesn’t fall into sleep when the others do and he’s humming quietly to himself when Isaac’s voice drifts sleepily from the darkness.

“What is that?” he asks about the song.

“Nothing, just something my Mom used to sing to me.” Stiles whispers back.

He feels close enough to the small group of tributes that his foolishness in telling his secrets doesn’t rise. He trusts them.

“Did she sing to you on the reaping?” Isaac asks.

Stiles knows he can’t see his frown, but he keeps himself from doing so anyway, “No. She’s dead.”

Isaac reaches out and touches his hand between them, “my mom’s gone too.”

The shattered tone makes Stiles what to get away from this topic. He squeezes Isaac’s hand in his and says something else, “Scott. That’s who you remind me of.”

He can feel Isaac smile.

“He’s my best friend,” Stiles continues, “You’d like him. He’s kinda dumb, but he’s also the best.”

Isaac shifts a bit closer and his head rests on Stiles's shoulder. It’s a general touch, but somehow, because it’s Isaac, Stiles can't help but think of when he and Scott were little and would cuddle up during sleepovers. Scott always used Stiles as a pillow and complained about him being boney the whole time.

“You’re boney.” Isaac mumbles, drifting back into sleep. Stiles lets out a watery laugh and drapes his wrist over Isaac’s side.

When the silence is loud and Isaac’s chest is rising and falling deeply, the song melody fills the cave, soft, deep and sweet. Stiles lets himself wallow in the pain of missing Scott and his Dad and knowing he’ll see his mom sometime soon. He lets himself cry silently in the darkness of the cave, away from the cameras and the Capitol. He lets himself just be until his eyes feel heavy and he slips into sleep.

Derek’s humming soothing him into darkness.

 

 

 


	6. Come Away to The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He ends up waking Isaac too because the two of them are cuddling in their sleep and hey, Derek is his cuddle buddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is were you guys start hating me. :/

 

 

 

Everyone is still asleep the next morning when Stiles wakes. He feels heavy and his eyes are more crusty than normal. He hates crying. It takes him a slow few minutes to untangle from Isaac and Derek, who had turned and big spooned him in the night.

The morning light is peaking in through a few holes in the cave and the entrance has a nice warm gradient of light. The burnt out fire is ashy and Stiles has a small flashback of thick ash flakes falling in his face and lungs. He breathes extra deep to remind himself he’s still alive.

He checks on Boyd, whose slumber is light and a sweat has broken out over his forehead. Stiles can smell an infection when he gets real close. Without medicine, Boyd will die soon. He wishes he saved a little of Derek’s medicine. There’s isn’t much he can do for Boyd other then carefully clean the wound with water. He uses up all of theirs and notes to head for the river today to get more. The absence of Lydia doesn’t weigh on his mind until he’s finished soothing Boyd’s inflamed skin.

He finds her sitting at the entrance of the cave, rummaging through his pack. She’s throwing things on the ground more forceful then necessary and Stiles flinches in anticipation for the argument about that’s about to happen. He settles down next to her and watches the silent woods. The air is cool and crisp, a strict early morning feel. It’s clam and Stiles’s mind has warning bells going off a mile a minute. The Gamemakers don’t like when things are calm for too long and they had failed at killing Derek and him yesterday.

Lydia throws the box of matches at him.

“Thanks for that.” Stiles mutters. He gets the famous Martin glare and Stiles wonders why everyone feels the need to scowl at him. He’s not doing anything particularly annoying.

“I can’t believe you.” Lydia blurts out, but she’s staring him down as if she just wants to jump right into the argument.

Stiles doesn’t even know what they are fighting about, “ok.” He says because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“You are so stupid.”

And ouch, not true. He’s got the best grades in school.

“You just have to play hero and go running off.”

Oh, she’s talking about that.

“Hey, Kate would have gone after you and none of you have weapons and you were vulnerable.” Stiles defends, because he’s not going to let Lydia make him feel bad for almost dying for them.

“You didn’t have any weapons either!”

Stiles huffs, “well, I went to go find some.” Which he didn’t really, realizing that his dagger is melted under a river of lava now.

“With a pack of Careers on your ass.” Lydia snips, she throws a bunch of rope at him.

“Lydia, I didn’t have a choice.” Making snap decisions shouldn’t cause this much anger in her, especially when it evolves dying.

“You didn’t come back.” She says quietly.

_Oh._

“and you go off running around with _Derek_.” She hisses but Stiles doesn’t take the bait this time.

She thought he’d left her on her own. Left her to team up with Derek when he didn’t come back after shaking Kate off his trail. He’s a little disappointed that Lydia thinks so; it’s not her normal logical self. It must be the pressure and lack of food and water.

“I came back.” He eyes the metal boxes she’s pulled out of his pack. He really doesn’t want her to throw those at him, which will hurt.

She huffs in her own stormy way that says she’s forgiven him.

“You know what these are right?” she drops the argument.

Stiles has no idea, he shakes his head. She gives him a look that she gives kids in class at home, that they are most idiotic people she’s ever met.

“They’re ground shield generators.”

He has no idea what that is.

“What?”

Lydia sighs, “They create mini force shields, and camouflage with the environment around you.”

Oh my god, he wishes he knew that sooner. Lydia takes one out of the box and sets it on the ground in front of her. She pushes the small flat button in the middle and she’s engulfed in a force shield that crackles and paints over with rock texture. If he hadn’t known she was there, he’d never find her until he ran into the force shield. Holy shit, he is so mad he didn’t know what those were yesterday.

Lydia appears back out of nowhere, “they change with the environment too, if you attach it on you. It’s the perfect individual disguise. It’s solar powered too,” she shows him the small black panels on the back, “just charge it in the sun for a few minutes and you’re good.”

She puts it back in the small metal box and starts putting Stiles’s things back in his pack. Stiles scrambles up, a plan forming in his head, and nearly jumps on top of Derek to wake him.

He ends up waking Isaac too because the two of them are cuddling in their sleep and _hey_ , Derek is his cuddle buddy.

He drags them to the light and shoves the shields into Derek’s hands,

“I can’t believe I had them the whole time.”

Derek is giving him an amused smile and just hands them right back, “we were practically on the run the whole day,” he says, giving Stiles an excuse for not checking his supplies. It makes him feel a little less stupid.

“Well,” Isaac says helpfully, “you know now.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to get medicine for Boyd.”

Derek doesn’t argue, but he frowns and stocks off. He comes back a moment later with his own pack, he’s rummaging through it. He pulls out a thick black fabric wrapped up in a messy cylinder. He hands them over to Stiles.

“I forgot I had them.” He simply says, but there’s a slight blush to his cheeks.

Stiles knows what it is the moment he take sit from Derek. The weight and the feel. He unwraps the fabric and twenty small throwing knives gleam happily at him. A surge of joy rushes through him.

“Oh my god,” he says, Derek got him knives, or had them all along and just didn’t use them. Stiles likes to think it’s the first one and he suspects he’s right judging by the blush staining Derek’s pale skin.

How’d Derek even know that is his strength?

With two of them armed in their weapons and with shields, stealing from the cornucopia will be a breeze, even with the crazy gang patrolling it.

Stiles wraps the knife holders to his upper thigh and upper left arm, covering the scar that was a wound not even a day ago. He clicks on one of the shield generators to the strap on his thigh. He tosses the other one at Derek.

“No, I don’t need it,” Derek hands it off to Isaac, who looks panicked for a moment. He doesn’t have a weapon.

“It’s ok. You won’t be seen unless someone runs right into the shield.” Stiles says and stares Isaac down until the blond attaches it to the top of his pants. If they are going on a raid, they’ll need more hands then just his and Derek’s.

Lydia frowns at them from the wall of the cave, “don’t you want to wait till noon at least? When they change shifts?”

“No,” Derek says, strapping on his large axes, “Kate will want to hunt again. She’s down a member.”

Lydia frowns even more, “how do you know she won’t come looking for us?”

“She’ll want an easy target, something to boost her confidence again.” Derek says simply.

Stiles feels instantly bad that their kill of Two will send Kate in a hunting rage for the other tributes. The only three left besides them are just kids. There’s nothing easier then killing off the kids.

“This is stupid.” Lydia says.

Stiles smirks at her, “don’t worry Lyds, I’ll bring you back a weapon.”

He’ll come back to her. She’s just blocking out the logical side of going on a raid in fear of ending up alone in the Games. Boyd needs help and soon and none of the sponsors has seen fit to send it to them so they have to get it themselves.

They leave Lydia with Boyd and start for the ruins on empty stomachs; they ate all the food last night. They’ll have to hunt for breakfast along the way, but that hasn’t seemed to be a problem for the three of them yet. Plus Stiles has his knives now. He kills three birds, which hey, a different animal besides bunnies, when Isaac’s stomach growls loudly and before he can even mention eating. They get a fast fire going and eat on the go when the birds are cooked, they don’t have a lot of time to waste. If they keep moving they can get to the ruins by midafternoon.

Derek is surprisingly light on his feet and faster than his bulky build would suggest, Stiles even has a hard time keeping up with his pace. Whenever he pictured District Seven citizens in the woods it was just loud and bulky people without a care for the trees and delicateness of the forest. They were there to chop it all down anyway. But Derek held a grace that suggested he lived in the woods, used its treasures and respected its dangerous. That he was part of it.

Derek kept surprising him.

A heat rolls in, lingering in the air that has them sweating through their layers the closer they get to the ruins. They get side tracked more than once on their hunt for water to keep them hydrated. When they do reach the ruins it’s a little later then midday and the heat is scorching. Stiles notices Derek favoring his almost healed shoulder.

The ruins are the same as always, still and quiet. They crouch low in the grass ring and Stiles gives Derek one last look before turning on his shields. Isaac follows suit. Derek is on his own as far as camouflage. He singles for Stiles and Isaac to round about the ruins, all three of them starting in different spots and then meeting up in the middle. They have to sweep the ruins first, as best as they can for any of the Careers.

With the shield, Stiles doesn’t have to climb over as many falling structures and he has a sense of calm that he hadn’t before. He thumbs at the knives clinging to his thigh as he moves about.  He goes slower than normal, his footsteps still able to alert one of the other tributes. Eventually he makes it to the center, the cornucopia looking the same as it did a few nights ago. He hadn’t run into anyone and he has no idea if Isaac is already there. Derek instructed them to not make a sound or turn off their shields until he arrived.

Stiles waits for a good ten minutes before Derek suddenly leaps over a fallen wall, axe out and face tight with tension. He’s got no blood on him and he doesn’t looked panic so Stiles is guessing he’s just being over dramatic.

He sees Isaac appear with a flicker and Derek re-sheathes his axe.  

“Stiles?” Isaac asks just as Stiles presses his own shield.

There’s a small fizzle and pop as it shuts down and he appears from behind the facade.

Derek wordlessly hands them their empty packs and they set to work.

They plan to take as much as they can and if everything goes well, come back every so often and start cleaning out the cornucopia. Kate is stupid enough to leave all the supplies where anyone could get them, so they are going to take them.

Leave the Careers to starve and hunt like they have too. They look for medical supplies first. Any pack that has something too common Stiles empties out on the grass and dirt and starts filling it with things they need. Derek finds the jackpot of medicine. Kate had obviously organized everything, two large medium sized crates that were packed with bandages, pain killers, that miracle gel that Stiles and Derek and been sent. They take everything they can fit in their packs.

Derek takes one of the crates and starts packing it with the food they find. Since the Careers are obviously out hunting it would be stupid not to take advantage of the time they have.

They’ve nearly cleaned out most of the unspoiled food, the rest they leave in the sun to rot faster; when Stiles notices Isaac’s gone missing. He panics and drops what he’s doing. He rounds the corner to the entrance of the cornucopia and finds the blonde staring down at the weapons left on the back racks.

The only thing that Kate had made sure to clear out were the weapons.

“Take what you can use of what’s left. She cleaned most of them out.” Stiles tells him.

Isaac nods and reaches for the three daggers left, the machete, and the last spear. At least now everyone will have some kind of large blade on them, its better than nothing.

Derek comes and finds them with his arms full of two crates packed with stuff. He’s got three packs on his back plus his axes and Stiles has no idea how he’s carrying all of that without even so much as a wince on his face.

“We need to get back. We’ve cleared out everything that’s important.”

It still doesn’t seem like enough. Stiles wants them to be really hurting.

“Let’s burn the rest.” He says without really thinking.

He expects Derek to disagree, the smoke would bring attention to Kate, if not right away, eventually. It would put them in danger, they still had half a day’s fast walk to get back to the caves and they were taking much more than they came with.

But Derek surprises him “ok,” He says, “put your shield on. Wait ten minutes for Isaac and I to get to the cover of the woods before you light anything.”

Stiles nods, of course, Derek didn’t really need to tell him that.

“Don’t linger, they could be close by.”

Again obvious, but Stiles just took it as Derek worrying, like how Lydia always got mad at him.

He watches them disappear into the ruins and turns on his shield, watching the familiar flicker of it connecting. And then he waits. He waits a good extra five minutes in case Isaac and Derek got hold up before flicking open a lighter stashed away in the many many packs.

The tent fabric that is now littering the ground from their snooping is highly flammable and they had pushed all the empty and useless supplies close enough that the fire will catch and burn for a while. He throws the first lighter deep into the cornucopia. He sees the flames almost immediately. He lights another one at the base and throws a third somewhere random into the pile. He jogs back behind a half crumbling wall and watches as the flames pick up and the heat is reaching his face.

He starts for the woods then. The sun is starting to set but the heat wave that hit them lingers and somehow the shield is making Stiles a hundred times hotter than he would be without it. He’s to the grass circle when a cannon echoes through the arena. Its loud and there hadn’t been a killing in a few days that Stile forgot how terrifying it is to hear it. He can’t see Derek and Isaac and panic shoots through him. He runs as fast as he can with the three packs on his back. The moment he’s in the woods he clicks off his shield and looks around wildly for Derek and Isaac.

He spots them at the same time they see him. The panic on Derek’s face makes his heart skip for the hundredth time.

“Oh my god,” Isaac says and he pulls Stiles into a hug so tight it seems it’s from both him and Derek, “we thought it was you.”

Stiles is still too panic ridden to answer, he just shakes his head.

They start their slow walk back, if they want to save Boyd, they won’t have time to stop and sleep. Isaac keeps looking behind them at the thick rising smoke until they can’t see the ruins anymore. Derek makes sure to walk closer to Stiles the whole way back.

It takes most of the night and Stiles can see Derek is getting tired from the extra weight. The heat that usually fades the more west they go is still thick in the air and Stiles’s gut tells him the Gamemakers are up to something. The Games are still moving at too slow a rate. Barely half of them are dead and it’s been nearly a week and a half already. The volcano is still fresh in his mind and at their next break Stiles stands so close to Derek their arms brush whenever one of them moves. He's still awed by Derek's drive to save him. They reach the river around midnight and fill up on water before following the rushing water down south to their caves. 

Lydia is awake when they stumble back. She rushes at them and hugs Stiles’ neck so hard it throbs when she pulls away. The fleeting thought of the cannon being for Boyd is put to rest, as he is awake and barely alert by a small fire Lydia has made.

They put down their winnings and Lydia starts in on the medical supplies. She demands Isaac’s help and shoos away Derek and Stiles.

Derek is rubbing his shoulders and wincing in the shadows. He goes willingly to the entrance of the cave after Lydia snaps one to many times for breathing room. Stiles thinks its because she doesn't like Derek all that much. She doesn't snip at him as violently when he doesn't stop hovering. She glares at him through the shadows though and Stiles grabs a container of relief gel and follows Derek.

Derek is sitting in the same spot Lydia that morning and he looks a little lost under the moonlight drifting in. Stiles settles down next to him, their thighs touching.  He plays with the container in his hands.

“There’s only eleven of us now.” Derek finally says.

Two of them kids that Stiles can’t remember the names of. He doesn’t know where this is going. He unscrews the top of the container and stares at the off white glittery gel in the moonlight.

“There’ll be even less soon.” Stiles finally says, not sure if it’s what Derek wants to hear or not.

“It could come down to the four of us.” Derek says so casually it sparks a bit of fear in Stiles’s mind.

He means to say he won’t kill any of them, he’ll refuse. Instead, “will you kill us?” comes out more vulnerable than he cares to admit.

Derek’s head snaps so fast to look at him that Stiles hears the bones crack. When he glances up at him Derek’s got this look that makes him want to cry. He’s so wide eyed and scared looking, but not scared for himself. Scared for Stiles maybe, or maybe that Stiles could think Derek would kill them if it came down to it.

He wants to apologize for asking, but Derek slowly brings up a hand and rests it in the space of his shoulder and neck. His thumb strokes down his tendon so gently it’s almost a tickle. His eyes are a soft green with an intensity that makes Stiles _want_.

“I won’t kill you.” His voice is so low and quiet that Stiles's ears strain after he’s spoken.

Derek’s hand slides up a bit to cradle the side of his head, fingers tickling the back of his neck. He’s much closer than before and Stiles hadn’t even noticed. He can feel Derek’s breath on his face and the world goes quiet as his senses zone in on Derek. He feels his eyes shutter close-

-and a loud shout from Boyd makes both of them jump apart.

Stiles’s face is flaming and he feels the cold dread of stupidly fill his stomach. They had almost kissed and he had, still does if he’s honest with himself, wanted it. He clears his throat and ignores the oddly weightless space where Derek’s hand had just been.

“Um, for your shoulders.” He mumbles out and spins his finger around in the air, indicating for Derek to turn around.

He rubs the gel into the pealing skin where Derek’s burn is and across the back of his neck to his other shoulder. Derek’s skin is warm and the muscles under Stiles’s hands are tight with the day’s work. His touch lingers longer than necessary, but Derek doesn’t complain.

He uses up half of the container and Derek’s shoulders shine in the light when the echoes of two cannons boom across the night sky. The silence after is loud and dreading. 

It’s them and the Careers now.

**

The heat wave is thicker than ever and the humidity is so thick it makes it hard to breathe. Stiles realizes just how much breathing has become a problem for him in the Games, it’s slightly irritating to feel that he will die from something as lame as lung failure.  

Boyd’s back is barely more than a scratch now and his fever is completely ridden from his body. Stiles is still amazed that he could be almost as good as knew in less than a night. It fuels his hate for the Capitol when he thinks about how it takes months for someone injured in the mines to heal. 

Boyd is feeling so much better that he demands they all go out to hunt for breakfast. Stiles isn’t too thrilled about that, Lydia is terrible at sneaking around on an animal hunting level. She’s too heavy on her feet. Boyd gets impatient and throws his spear too soon. At least Isaac and Derek are better and they head off a little ways away to actually catch something. Stiles stays with the loud twins and tries to teach them correctly. By mid day the heat wave is so extreme that Stiles has to remove his rain jacket and under armor, his sweat clinging to the thin black V-neck. Lydia keeps complaining and longing for a shower out loud, Stiles just wants to know what the Gamemakers are up to. 

 It’s Boyd that catches the reason for the sudden heat wave throughout the arena.

“Do you feel that?” he asks, coming out of his hunched over pose. He stands and looks up at the sky through the trees.

“No,” Lydia says, wiping sweat from her brow. 

“The air,” is all it takes for Boyd to say. Stiles can feel it immediately after that; the air is cooling down around them, dropping fast.

The rush of the wind moving towards them is loud as the leaves rustle above their heads. The patches if sky they can see is turning dark, _really_ dark. It gets muggy, thick and moist and then the temperature drops once more and a loud rumble rolls across the sky. Lightening crackles and lights up the black clouds.

Thunderstorms.

Boyd lets out a whistle, untroubled. District Eleven is used to them, with their open fields and flat lands and humidity.

The thunder gets much louder and the cracks of lightning faster. The wind picks up, breezing through the lower level of the forest. The trees groan around them. 

“Uh.” Lydia says eyes on the sky, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be out here.”

Stiles is itching to get to Derek and Isaac. His body is tingling with a foreboding. The thunder is right above them and it thuds around in his chest long after it roars. The heavy sound of rain on a forest canopy picks up and Lydia stumbles across the moss towards Stiles.

“Holy shit,” she says, her hair starting to swing in the wind that manages to circle around the trees. 

Boyd is staring intensely up at the sky, he keeps moving around for better open spots to look for. His face is set in a stoney expression, focused. 

“What are you looking for?” Stiles calls over a loud roar.

“Tornado clouds!” Boyd calls back and Stiles barely catches it over the sudden snap of lightening. Fuck, _tornadoes_. Couldn't a volcano be enough natural disasters. 

He’s starting to feel really unsafe in the forest. The flashes of lightening light up the now darkened woods and when Derek and Isaac are suddenly in his vision it startles Stiles. They’re jogging towards them, looking more concerned then Lydia about the storm.  

Derek grabs his arm and pulls him in close the second he's in arms reach, “you guys ok?” he shouts, its constant noise now and Stiles feels his panic raising.

The entire Games has him too much on edge.

There’s a boom and a crackle that sounds like an electrified whip, it seems to shake the ground. All five of them jump.

“Ok,” Lydia says, “screw lunch, let’s head back.”

“Uh” Isaac puts his arm out to stop her, “I don’t think we can.”

They all turn to look towards the cliffs. An orange glow is fast approaching them, already past their caves. The lightening had struck the forest and sparked a fire. It is quickly over taking the forest.

“Shit.” Stiles curses, fire, why is it always _fire_ trying to kill him.

“Ok,” Derek says, pulling at Stiles to get behind him, “let’s go. Now.”

“Yeah, now’s good.” Stiles barely manages before they’re running down south.

At least they all have their weapons with them and Stiles remembered to bring his compass and his shields.

Above their heads the storm rages on, getting bigger and bigger and the fire at their backs is getting faster. Stiles can start to feel the heat and the smoke is drifting their way from the wind. They run and stumble through the forest and Derek is yelling something but Stiles can’t hear him. Boyd yells back, and Stiles guesses its good someone can communicate under all this noise.

The tree line starts to thin out and the heat seems to have stopped gaining on them, but the smoke is still wafting around them. And then suddenly they are out in the open and completely drenched. It’s pouring and the grass in the southern section is blown over on its side from the wind. The meadows wave with a shine from the intense wind. From what they can see of the forest, the trees weak enough are so far leaning they look as if they can snap.

Smoke is pillowing up into the sky and the flames create an orange-y, hazy, glow on top of the trees. Stiles feels a loss, his forest, it’s burning away. The storm doesn’t seem to be disappearing though. They are all so memorized by it that a sudden shout spooks all of them.

Stiles whips around, his eyes wide.

Isaac is staring back at him, mouth open, gasping, and his eyes wide and filled with pain. Lightning strikes hard and strobes as Isaac stumbles forward, behind him, the boy from One is panting heavily, a crazed look in his eye, his large hunting knife dripping with Isaac’s blood and rain water.

Stiles throws the knife before he even knows what’s happening. It lodges right in One’s shoulder and the kid screams in a rage. He pushes past Isaac and after Stiles, but Derek catches him around the knees with the blunt end of his axe. One falls straight to the ground. He’s babbling and now that he’s closer Stiles can see cuts and deep wounds on him. He looks beaten and he’s shaking with something other than fear and cold.

But Stiles feels nothing but anger for him and he launches another knife, this one sticks right in the chest, deep. One gasps out and falls dead the rest of the way to the ground. The cannon is barely heard over the storm.

Stiles rushes to Isaac, who’s on his hands and knees, gasping.

“Isaac,” Stiles voice is desperate and he cradles Isaac onto his back and into his lap, “Isaac,” he says again, because he can’t think.

Lydia is kneeling on Isaac’s other side, brushing his wet hair away from his face. Derek and Boyd stand around them, shoulders tense and weapons ready, waiting for the other Careers to jump out at them. The rain is falling so hard Stiles can barely see. Isaac is shaking in his arms and staring weakly up at him. He’s giving Stiles puppy dog eyes, Scott’s to be more specific and Stiles wants to scream at Isaac to cut it out. Because now it’s like Scott and Isaac both are dying in his arms.

“It’s ok,” Isaac says, managing it loud enough for Stiles to hear over the rain and thunder.

But it’s not, it’s really not. Stiles hates the Games and he hates the Capitol and he hates that he got so attached to the group he’s with.

He’s so stupid.

Isaac’s blood is mingling with the rain and the grass and Stiles can’t stop the tears from joining the rain drops on his face.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, voice cracking and leans his head down against Isaac’s.

Isaac just smiles at him and squeezes his hand weakly.

And then his eyes dim a little and his breathing stops.

A cannon sounds.

 

 

 


	7. Little Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the crystal water shimmering in the sunlight nearly breaks Stiles's barely held together mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is short, but I wanted to update soon since it's been a few days. Sorry guys, this week has been crazA-y!

 

 

They take shelter under one of the trees by the lake and watch the storm slowly disappear and mourn the loss of nearly all of the red woods, just a few trees left making up the woods line. The rain stays though and Stiles is silently glad, he can’t stop the tears from falling.

He’s numb and leaning back on Derek’s chest, Lydia and Boyd huddle close to them, leaning against each other and back on the tree’s trunk. They are all soaking and freezing and their only warmth is body warmth, their jackets shed and burned in the now gone forest. There’s a lighter wind that cuts through their skin and Stiles shutters every so often and pushes back into Derek’s chest. He doesn’t speak, he can’t get the image of the shuttle coming and taking away Isaac’s body out of his mind. There’s an emptiness that Stiles hasn’t felt since his Mom died in his chest.

 He’s freezing and no matter how much Derek rubs his arms or wraps him in an embrace, he can’t warm up. The front of his pants are stained with Isaac’s blood, the rain not washing it away. The large tree that looms over them doesn’t offer much protection when the rain keeps blowing the rain sideways into them.

He keeps telling himself that Scott is still alive back in District Twelve. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the rain eventually stops and the wind dies down. It’s still dim and dark out, Stiles vaguely thinks it must be evening.

Eventually, he’s aware of Derek and the others talking. Derek’s voice is soft and close to his ear. His chest rumbles comfortably against his back. He only catches bits and pieces of what they are saying,

“-he looked crazed-” Lydia.

“-ird he was alone-” Boyd.

“-Desperate-” Lydia.

“-think Kate is turning on them-” Derek.

He zones out again for a while, fighting back the urge to cry all over again, to scream, to anything. He just wants to fade and be home with his Dad.

He’s only aware of Derek’s warm hands cradling him, shifting him about. Eventually exhaustion catches up to him.

**

When he wakes up he’s curled up under the tree, the sun shining happily and bright. Stiles glares at nothing for a moment just pissed that the Gamemakers use even the weather as an insult. He’s not wet anymore and he’s alone. He can hear the others nearby and when he sits up, he spots them standing at the edge of the lake.

Stiles's heart thumbs painfully.

Isaac had been so fucking happy to swim in that lake.

He’s careful not to glance over to his right; otherwise he’ll just fall back into the image of Isaac’s death. He’s had half a day to mourn Isaac and even though it’s not enough for him, it will have to be. He’s still in the Games.

Lydia is snipping at Derek and Boyd when he gets in ear shot and dark laughter threats to bubble out of his throat from the terrified expressions on their faces. He’s afraid that he won’t able to stop if he does, so he clears this throat loudly.

Only Derek turns his attention away from Lydia. He comes up to Stiles before he gets to them and envelopes him in a strong embrace.

Stiles honestly wasn’t expecting it so he just hugs Derek back weakly.

“We’re trying to get some food,” Derek whispers to him.

The lake, it’s their only food source now besides the jungle, but Kate, Erica, and Jackson reside there. There’ll be fish in the lake; they could get them without knowing how to swim. Stiles remembers catching sight of them swimming up to the shallow end.

Looking at the crystal water shimmering in the sunlight nearly breaks Stiles's barely held together mask.

He leans heavily on Derek’s side as Lydia starts shoving Boyd into the water. Boyd just drags her with him and they are both soaked from the waist down in minutes. Derek snorts at them and Stiles can’t bring himself to care about anything at all.

Boyd manages to catch three fish despite not growing up around water. Lydia doesn’t catch anything at all but she glides around the camp fire, acting like she did. Stiles doesn’t miss the head taps she keeps giving Boyd though. The fire is close to the water’s edge, on the soft sandy dirt. Derek sits extra close to him and if Stiles were paying attention more, he’d say Derek is being clingy, but he can barely even look at the fish.

Lydia and Derek both try to get him to eat, but his stomach just feels to queasy.

“Isaac would want you to.” Boyd says across the fire, but his voice is gentle and patient. He hates Boyd for pulling that on him. 

It guilts Stiles enough into sharing with Derek.

When the fish are gone and the day is turning into night faster than Stiles is ready for, they huddle close around the fire. Lydia clears her throat,

“Stiles,” she says with a gentleness that is strangely out of place on her, “we need to think about what our next move is.”

Right, cause they still have killing to do. A surge runs through Stiles’s body. Killing he can focus on, get back at more than just the District One boy for Isaac’s death. Killing he can do.

He stares over the fire at Lydia and he knows its intense and rage filled, but no one says anything about it.

“We think Kate’s turning on the Careers.” Lydia continues, Stiles vaguely remembers hearing Derek say that.

“Why?” He asks. There’s no real evidence that has convinced him of that. Two was on her own when Derek killed her, but she had still been acting under Kate’s orders. There is no reason to assume One was any different.

“He was alone,” Lydia says immediately echoing Stiles’ thoughts. He snorts at her. Derek places his hand over Stiles’s knee, a calming gesture, subtle.

“But there was something wrong,” Boyd said, “all those wounds on him weren’t from roughing it in the jungle-”

“-or even the ruins-” Derek adds.

“-right. They looked inflicted with a blade.” Boyd tosses a small log onto the fire and Stiles wants to know where the hell they got fucking fire wood.

“The others would have come after us when Isaac-” Lydia cut herself off, and the three of them stared hard at Stiles in distress.

“It still doesn’t mean Kate is turning on them.” He says, Derek’s lips pinch but Stiles ignores him, “besides, we have other things to worry about right now.”

He knows he's avoiding the subject. It's still way to fresh and his heart thuds with disbeilf that Scott didn't die along with Isaac. He just doesn’t want to talk about Isaac, or Kate cause all he can think about now is that she is Derek’s ex and the words she whispered to him only weeks ago. Kate’s had a hold on him since he got to the Capitol. It makes his stomach turn and he wishes he could see Allison and ask her if it was true. If Kate really is her Aunt. If she knew what Kate did to get moved to Seven. 

“Stiles.” Lydia shakes his knee. He zoned out, “what ‘things’?” she repeats.

“The arena,” Stiles had been thinking about it for days now. The volcano had sparked it, and the recent storm isn't quite enough for a pattern, but in the Games under thicking could get one killed. He sighs, “I think the Gamemakers are destroying it on purpose.”

“No duh.” Lydia has no mercy even in grief.

“No, look, it’s a circle,” Stiles takes a splintered wood piece and draws a circle in the sand they sit on, “there are six areas,” he divides the four outer places and marks them for what they are, woods, jungle, meadows, and lake. The two inner circles grass and ruins.

Their small group leans in closer to overlook Stiles’s crappy drawing.

“The first location to go was the northern section,” he places an X through it, “and then barely a couple days later the next section,” he feels the same pang of loss when he slashes through the western section, “both were wiped out because of ‘natural’ disasters.”

“So?” Boyd asks.

“-Soo,” Lydia’s caught on and Stiles is surprised it took her this long; “we probably have a short time in this section. They are moving around the circle, and judging between the last two, we have about a day, maybe two left in this section before something wipes it out.”

“Ok, so then we move to the jungle-”

“Kate’s there.” Derek jumps in immediately, cutting Boyd off.

Stiles doesn’t snip at him, he remembers distinctly arguing with Derek that Kate was in the red woods and not the jungle. Obviously he had changed his mind. He tires to keep his smug smirk to himself. 

“We move to the ruins.” Stiles says in a hush, “they won’t destroy the ruins.”

“They probably will Stiles.” Lydia frowns at him.

“No,” he shakes his head, “the cornucopia is there, the supplies-,”

“-Which we burned-” Derek mutters.

“-it’s home base. Destroy the outer sections and force us into the center, where we started, for a final show down.”

They’re all silent after that.

“We could go after Kate before that. We can end the games before then.” Lydia says.

Stiles hates to be the one to point out the obvious, but, “then there’d only be us left.”

They’d have to kill each other.

“No one’s killing anyone,” Derek says sternly and he shoves his upper body against Stiles to jostle him.

Stiles isn’t polite enough to give Derek the look of irritation. He agrees though, they are not going to turn on each other. But he rather not it be down to the four of them, it will just be a slow and long death. The Gamemakers will have to find other ways to kill them. Stiles doesn't want to witness that either. 

“So what, we just wait and see if Kate or the Gamemakers kill us off first?” Boyd’s normally clam tone is growing irritated.

Stiles can understand, it sucks all around, but that’s what they were forced into. They all knew they’d have to die sooner or later, someone has to win and there can only be one. Personally, he’d rather get shot with one of Kate’s arrows then die from a fake natural disaster.

Derek clears his throat, “tomorrow. We’ll go to the ruins tomorrow.”

“Kate might be there.”

“No,” Derek is staring off into the darkness, at the barely visible fog rolling out from the jungle to the east, “she’s in the jungle. It’s safe.”

Any woods is better than out in the open.

They all cuddle down together to keep warm in the cooling night. Stiles watches the fire embers glow in the dark and shifts when Derek’s arm wraps tight around his waist. He can feel his breathe on his neck, slow and even. He's humming low into Stiles's ear, intending to be a comfort. But it just makes Stiles want to cry again. Stiles misses Isaac’s warmth on his other side and he doesn’t fall asleep until early.

By then he only gets about an hour’s rest before Derek is shaking him awake.

When they go into the lake for breakfast, all the fish seem to have disappeared. The Gamemakers are forcing them to move the Games forward. Stiles glares up at the sky for a long while, daring the Capitol to make a move right then and there. He wants to scream out, but he doesn't want to hear Lydia bitch at him for being stupid. When he looks at Derek though, he can see the same thing written on the dark-haired teen's face. Something like righteous rage and rebellion in his eyes. It's haunting and inspiring and Stiles thinks he might actually shout anyway. Lydia's complaining though and pouts, looking further south at the desert landscape beyond the lake.

Fuck no, Stiles hits her arm, they are not going there to look for food. With their luck, some quick sand will swallow them up and Stiles is _not_ suffocating. He’s just not.

So they head for the ruins after a long drink from the lake. The only things they have are weapons and Stiles forgot to take the second ground shied off of Isaac’s body. He doesn’t use his own. He even debates tossing it, but that would just be stupid. 

Another heat wave is upon them and Stiles wonders if the Gamemakers are just going to kill them all off with dehydration. Derek keeps brushing against him and Stiles tries his hardest not to snap at him. He doesn’t need the extra body heat right now. They’re hungry and sweating buckets when they reach the grass section. It’s also noon and Stiles can feel the inpatients through the arena roof. He thinks Lydia’s right about the one day; the southern section will probably be gone by nightfall. He resists flipping the finger up in the air. 

Derek takes Boyd with him first into the ruins and Stiles only complies because the high grass feels cool on his skin and he sinks down to the ground with Lydia in relief. They are silent in their wait.

Stiles doesn’t want to talk anymore, he’ll just end up caring more. He already cares too much for Lydia.

Boyd and Derek come back shorter than Stiles excepted with the all clear. They head into the ruins and take a slow walk through the maze of rubble.

Stiles is surprised to see the cornucopia is empty. Empty from anything and everything. No litter, no burnt left overs. There aren’t even any burn marks on the shiny metal horn. He snorts and the four of them huddle into the shade provided from the open building. They spend the next three hours in tense defense mode. Every sound and movement makes one of them jump. A shaking gets them scrambling up onto the ruins to see what is happening. A large dust cloud is kicking up from the south and Stiles wonders what is destorying the lake. They stare until the cloud is so thick the sky is blocked. It doens't really matter anyway. Now only the jungle is left. 

Eventually they settle down into a relaxation that only borderlines as tense. The day falls into night and the heat goes with it. Boyd and Lydia are sticking close together and Stiles has a fleeting thought of jealousy. If he were to die, Lydia would still be protected with Boyd, he seems to constantly be by her side. Her protector. Stiles is supposed to be that, and yet he is finding himself paired off with Derek more and more.

Not that it is such a bad thing. Stiles likes Derek, maybe a little too much.

 They have no wood and no fire, but the fake moon gives them more light than a real one would and Stiles has no problem making out Derek’s large bulk pace back and forth in front of him.

“Derek!” he snips, “cut it out.”

Derek frowns and sits down next to Stiles, “sorry,” he mumbles.

He’s nervous about Kate. Derek’s been nervous about her from the start, more than Stiles. Stiles waits till Lydia and Boyd are out of ear shot, heading into the maze for their turn of lookout patrol.

“What’d she do?” he finally asks because his chances to are dwindling fast. He just has to know why Kate was moved to a different district, why Allison never mentioned her. Why Kate is such a concern.

Derek’s tense with Stiles’s words and it takes him a long moment before answering. Stiles is afraid that he won’t for a moment, but Derek seems to have a weakness for him. His mind flashes to the other day, Derek's face so close to his. He flushes and almost misses Derek's answer. 

“She killed a bunch of people.”

Stiles frowns at that, he doesn’t remember learning about any mass killings in school. His Dad never told him about any such thing.

“She burned a family alive in their home, her brother’s wife too.” Derek continues, he’s got a glazed look on his face, dark and brooding. Allison never did speak of how her Mother died.

It’s not enough to transfer her to another District though. There are always killings in the Districts and even when massive ones happen, the District is responsible, not the Capitol.

“She caused an explosion in the mines a year later.” Derek is rubbing his wrist and not looking at Stiles at all.

That would be enough; the Capitol can’t have their precious resources being sabotaged. But there are no records in Twelve about that happening. No one’s ever said anything, not even whispers. No one even reacted when Kate was chosen for the games. It seems impossible. Stiles wants to believe that Derek is lying, but he can’t. Not when Derek is looking like a lost puppy.

“She was eight when she arrived in Seven.”

Stiles swallows. A child, she was that crazy as a child. Stiles can’t get her cold stare out of his head and he shifts closer to Derek.

“Did you know,” Stiles’s voice is horse and he winces at the sound in the silence, “what she did…when you guys, you know.”

“Dated? No. I didn’t know.”

Stiles wants to press Derek. He wants to know how Derek knows all this, did Kate tell him herself?  She could have lied to him, or did someone else tell him? Was it the reason they broke up, or something more? Something worse than the truth?

“Derek-”

A scream cuts him short and his adrenaline is back in a large flood. _Lydia._ He and Derek are on their feet in seconds. They jump and run, scale the walls and the pillars. Lydia’s screaming is louder and higher and the closer they get, they hear Boyd shouting and the clashing of blades.

Erica’s laughter rings loud in the night sky.

The rubble keeps them apart for longer than necessary, Stiles’s mind racing with fear and ‘ _hold on’s._ ’

When they finally get over large boulders and out into one of the few open spots of the ruins, it’s to Erica and Jackson relentlessly attacking Boyd and Lydia.

Erica’s got Lydia on her back, struggling and shoving for dominance. Jackson’s circling Boyd like a lizard, cold and calculating, sword strong and shiny in his hand. Boyd’s arm is slashed and bleeding all over the ground. Jackson is unmarked.

Derek lets out a growl that sounds a little _too_ wolfish and runs straight into the fight, his axes swinging. Stiles starts chucking knifes at Erica. It gets her off Lydia, but then she’s running right for Stiles. He takes off back into the ruins, knowing that Derek and Boyd can handle Jackson on their own.

He hopes Lydia doesn’t follow him.

Stiles isn’t as fast as Erica, but he can climb better and he gains some space. He manages enough to duck down and under a large fallen pillar; it’s shadow pitch black in the night. He tries his best not to suck in air to loud. His heart is racing, the clashing of weapons faint in the air. He feels completely alone. He suddenly can't stop shivering. His ears strain and Erica’s light steps are louder than normal. She’s breathing heavy and he can hear the smile in her inhales. She’s enjoying this.

“Come out come out little coal-eater.”

Rude.

He listens and rises to the pads of his feet when Erica gets closer. Just a little more and he’ll have the perfect opportunity to strike with surprise.

Of course, his usual plans never go how he wants. Lydia’s war cry comes out of nowhere and Erica is suddenly shrieking and a loud thud startles Stiles into jumping from his hiding place. Lydia is straddling Erica, who’s got blood oozing down into her face. She’s managing to keep Lydia from stabbing her with a dagger pretty well though.

Stiles throws a knife right into Erica’s leg. The busty blonde screams and bucks Lydia’s smaller frame right off her. Stiles winces at the crack that sounds when Lydia’s head hits the pillar. She gets up though and is lunging for Erica again.

Lydia misses, even with a severe leg wound Erica can still pull off her training well.

Stiles manages another knife before rushing to Lydia’s side. Erica is hunched over and breathing hard, Stiles's knife only grazing her cheek. She’s still smirking at them though. She wipes some of the blood from her eyes, their filled with hunger.

“Come on now. Two to one. That’s not fair.” Erica sneers at them.

Honestly it’s more one to one. Lydia is all survival mode, just thrashing and no calculation in her fights.

Stiles forces Lydia behind him and stares Erica down. He doesn’t get what she is waiting for. He moves for one of his knifes, he’s not going to wait any longer for her to kill them.

Erica ducks from the knife and lunges for both of them. All three of them go toppling over and Erica is shoving her knee on Stiles's chest and yanking Lydia’s head back with her hair. Lydia screams in anger and fights hard. Stiles can barely get any air in his lungs and he claws at Erica’s thigh. His vision is going grey and Lydia isn’t winning against Erica, who’s got her in tight with an arm around her throat. He can hear Lydia gasping for breath with him.

There’s a loud clank of metal against stone and Derek’s large body is looming over all three of them out of now where. He punches Erica right in the face. She falls off both of them in an instant, bitching and growling about her nose being broken. Derek doesn’t move to finish her off though; he kneels over Stiles and cradles his head in his large hands.

Stiles is trying to get his lungs back to normal as fast as possible. Derek keeps soothing him with rushed glances behind him.

Boyd’s booming voice is suddenly with them and Jackson’s snicker is close by. Derek falls flat on top of Stiles, protecting him as the two join in the fight. It's more close corridors in this section and Derek grunts in pain while moving Stiles about to safety. 

There’s more rushing about, pulling and pushing and somehow Boyd’s got Erica cornered, Lydia’s hunched on the ground, bleeding heavily from her thigh (where the _hell_ did she get that from?), and Derek and him are glaring darkly at Jackson.

He doesn’t seem bothered though, he just takes a second to nod past them at Erica and then he’s charging.

Derek takes a large swing at him and misses. Every knife Stiles throws does as well and he’s starting to run low.

Jackson slices a clean cut into Stiles’s chest. It’s not deep but it stings and Stiles has to fall to his knees in exhaustion and pain. He hears Derek grunt and then a loud thud. Fear spikes his heart and he glances up for Derek. He’s not dead, but he’s hunched over on the ground, Jackson got him too.

“Jackson!” Erica’s scream is louder than Lydia’s ever was and Stiles glances up in time to see Boyd smashing her back into stone. Erica’s blonde hair is red with blood and her eyes wide. She’s flailing about with Boyd’s strong shoves and Stiles can see her death about to happen.

He just doesn’t see Boyd’s.

Erica snakes his dagger away from his belt with a last shove and she plunges it straight into Boyd’s chest. He falls away dead.

All the sound leaves Stiles again and the same blinding rage when Isaac died fills him, he staggers once and then heaves a knife at Erica.

It hits her right in the head with a satisfying fleshy squish. Bull’s eye.

Two cannons sound and then it’s too quiet.

Stiles looks around and he only spots Derek, stumbling back to his feet.

Dread fills him, Lydia is gone and so is Jackson.

“Derek,” he slurs, reaching out. Derek catches him easily, holding him up, “oh my god. Derek, he took her.”

She’s gone.

“Jackson took Lydia.”

He took her off to her death. He took her to _Kate_.

Stiles crashes back to the ground, Derek going with him, arms keeping him from injury.

Stiles just stares at Boyd’s dead body, bleeding out into the grass. Erica’s folded back onto the pillar behind him, her eyes wide open.

Stiles grips at Derek’s shoulders, feeling nothing but denial.

He took her. He took _Lydia_.

 

 

___

Notes: Thanks so much for keeping up with the story guys! Even though it's getting depressing. Haha. Let me know what you guys think, your comments really motivate me to write! 


	8. Come Away to The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is near hysteria, he can’t stop staring at Boyd’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, second update in a day! lol I feel so bad I didn't update for half the week! This one is kinda sort too, but I think you guys will like it. Thanks so much for all the support and comments, you guys are all super awesome and sweet!

 

 

 

“Derek,” Stiles is near hysteria, he can’t stop staring at Boyd’s body, “ _Derek_ , he took her!”

Derek is pressing in close, almost on top of him. He’s shushing him quietly, pulling Stiles in and soothing back Stiles’s growing hair. They’re both bleeding and hunger has killed their energy. Jackson will be too far for them to catch up to now. That doesn’t stop Stiles from fighting Derek. His initial shock wears off quickly as soon as he realizes he can go after her,

“Let me go!” he shoves and shoves, but Derek’s just a big mass. He shoves harder and harder and the pain in his chest grows to a sharp sting every so often, he’s ripping the sword wound with every struggle. But it’s Lydia, Lydia who he’s crushed on since he could talk. Lydia who ignored him for his whole life. Beautiful Lydia who somehow became his best friend during his last few weeks. He can’t just leave her to be dragged off to her death.

He’s better than that. He fights harder. He’s sobbing and screaming. Derek just holds on tighter.

“Son of a bitch, let go you fucker.” Stiles curses and he doesn’t care how hard he’s hitting Derek, he’ll get free if it’s the last thing he does.

Derek’s got him flesh against him, face in Stiles’s shoulder and hand around his waist and in his hair. He’s a tense ball of muscle and bone. He’s muttering things to Stiles, but it’s all just a buzz.

And then there’s nothing. Just blackness.

When he comes too, he’s back at the cornucopia, Boyd and Erica’s body nowhere in sight. It’s still nighttime. His head is killing him and his chest feels flaky. He rubs his hand over his shirt, the sliced open fabric hard with his own blood. He sits up and it takes him a full minute to spot Derek.

He’s sitting in the shadows on the other side of the cornucopia, face barely visible. Stiles only spots him because the moon is casting light over the lower half of his body. Realization washes over him.

“You son of a bitch,” Stiles growls, stumbling to his feet, “you hit me!”

Derek’s visible arm twitches, but other than that a sense of clam has come over him, “you were hysterical.” He’s void of emotion and it just makes Stiles madder.

“You _fucking_ knocked me out!” he feels around on his face. His right check is swelling and he bets there’s a nice shiner on his eye. It gives a sudden hard throb and fucking _ow_.

“You were hysterical,” Derek says again, getting to his feet.

Stiles wants to throw a knife at him, not to kill, just a nice shoulder wound or something. He knows Derek has them though, the empty weight on his arm and thigh are hard to miss.

Stiles settles for lunging at Derek with a growl. Derek doesn’t even try to move, he just lets Stiles slam him back into the wall. He doesn’t try to push Stiles off him, he doesn’t even raise his arms to protect himself.

“What the fuck.” Stiles spits out and shoves Derek hard, even though his body has nowhere to go, “fight _back_.” He growls.

Derek doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. Just stands there staring at him. Stiles is shaking with anger and he clocks Derek so hard the District Seven tribute actually stumbles to the side. His fist to face contact made a satisfying revengeful sound of breakage. Only for a moment though. Pain rushes to his knuckles and holy shit that is worse than the sword wound. He stumbles back gasping loud ‘ah ah’s’ and shaking his hand to try and numb the pain.

“Shit, why didn’t anyone tell me punching someone hurts this much.” He leans over and gives his hand an extra shake. “ _Fuck_.” He mumbles.

And just like that all the fight is out of him. He falls back on his ass hard with a deep exhale. He’s just so tired suddenly. He swallows and fights back a broken whine. Isaac’s dead, Boyd’s dead, Lydia’s gone and-

“Oh shit,” Stiles snaps his head up to look back at Derek, “d-did a cannon? For Lydia?”

Derek comes out into the light with sad eyes and Stiles can see a cut on Derek’s lip, “no.” Derek says.

She’s not dead then. Because Jackson hadn’t delivered her to Kate yet? Or Kate was planning on doing something to Lydia, torture? Prolonging her death? What? Why take her?

It clicks in his head as Derek tentatively kneels down in front of him, a trap. Kate took Lydia to lure them into the jungle. If they went after Lydia, they’d die. Stiles’s heart plummets. Lydia probably figured that out by now.

She’d accept it, she would. Stiles feels the tears prickling at his eyes already and he can’t look at Derek, he just can’t. Derek had saved him from rushing after her because he knew. He knew it was a trap, he’d placed it together well before Stiles.

“We’ll get her back.” Derek whispers into the cold night. He’s so close his breathe comes out in white clouds on Stiles's face.

Stiles’s eyes widen in surprise. He looks up into Derek’s. There’s only determination in them and the ever under layer of anger that never seems to leave Derek.

“It’s a trap.” Stiles blurts out, his cheeks flush with color the second after. He knows Derek is aware of that.

“I know,” Derek says, “we’ll go, I just need a day.”

Stiles frowns, _Derek_ needs a day. For what? Gathering supplies? He snorts at himself. Derek frowns.

“We’ll go.” He reassures Stiles and he feels bad because that snort hadn’t been in disbelief towards Derek.

“I know,” he rushes out quickly and loud, “I know.” He tries again softer.

They stare at each other for a bit. The cut on Derek’s lip is bleeding again, opening whenever he talks. Stiles winces.

“Sorry,” he reaches up, wanting to touch but hesitates, “ ‘bout, you know. Punching you.” He starts off strong, but Derek’s stare is intense he gets embarrassed. He’s not that sorry though, he’s still pissed that Derek knocked him out cold.

Derek snorts, “Its ok.”

Stiles frowns, “aren’t you sorry?”

Derek gets a playful little smirk on his face that Stiles hasn’t seen since training, “for what?”

Stiles scoffs, “jackass.” He mutters.

Derek’s looking at him with soft eyes again, it makes Stiles squirm. It doesn’t seem to bother Derek though. He rests a hand on the back of Stiles head.

“Maybe I didn’t have to hit you so hard.” Derek admits, he’s smiling wide at him and Stiles wonders if he’s a terrible person for being happy right now.

Damn, he’s giddy because Derek is mocking him about knocking him out cold because Lydia got kidnapped by a psycho tribute.

There is _definitely_ something wrong with him. And with Derek, he’s the one who started off this whole flirty sarcastic thingy they have.

And then all thoughts of guilt leave his brain because Derek is pushing in close and pressing his lips ever so gentle against Stiles’s.

Holy shit, _holy shit_. _Derek Hale_ is kissing him. They are so fucked up, and stupid. Really, really stupid.

Derek takes Stiles not pulling away as a sign of good faith and presses in harder, nipping at Stiles’s lower lip and Stiles can feel Derek’s blood from his split lip on his own.

It’s probably also wrong that he thinks that is hot too.

Stiles feels a little light headed and he gasps a bit for air. Derek takes his chance and then not only are they kissing, but Derek has his tongue in Stiles mouth and Stiles should probably be super embarrassed that all of Panem, including his Dad, is watching this.

He just lets out a small moan and hoists Derek closer instead. Stiles is sloppy and rushes too much and it’s such a contrast to Derek’s slow and targeted technique, practiced. Derek slides his other hand up Stiles’s neck to cup his head gently, easing him into slowing down and backing off on too much tongue.

They get to a happy medium after a bit and Stiles can’t believe he hasn’t been doing this for the last five years of his life. Derek pulls off slow and easy.

Stiles knows his cheeks are red and he’s probably got the stupidest smile on his face. Derek looks kind of loopy himself. He hasn’t moved his hand, his thumb still caressing behind Stiles’s ear.

“Scott, I kissed Derek Hale today.” Stiles blurts out.

Derek wrinkles his noise at him and pulls back a bit more, looking conflicted if he should be annoyed or just laugh at Stiles instead.

Stiles smiles wide and he doesn’t even feel embarrassed, Scott totally deserves to know what happened to him today, even if he just saw it.

It’s a thing they do. And if Stiles is going to die in a day, might as well let Scott know what he’s accomplished, even if all of Panem is in on it too.

Derek’s moved his hand from the back of his head to his face now; he keeps thumbing at Stiles’s black eye. He looks way more sorry about it now that they’ve kissed. Stiles laughs at him.

“So, that was good.” He says. Derek rolls his eyes and pulls away completely into a stand. He holds out a hand for Stiles though.

“Come on,” Derek says, “I want to sleep.”

They curl back into the cornucopia as much as possible and Stiles sleeps with his head pillowed on Derek’s chest.

He wakes up alone, his ground shield buzzing on his pant loop and his knives back around his arm and upper thigh. The fake sun is still low in the sky and there is a peacefulness about the morning air that makes Stiles suspicious. He only panics a little that Derek isn’t with him.

It’s not like this is a new thing.

He clicks off the shield and stretches before walking lazily out of the cornucopia. He’s just finished one of the biggest yawns of his life when Derek appears from one of the many ruin exists.

“Oh, there you are.” Stiles says, “I thought I’d lost you.”

Derek smirks at him. The moment he’s in arms reach he’s pushes Stiles’s shirt up and touches the edges of his freshly scabbed over chest wound.

“Dude _ow_ ,” Stiles squirms about, “and you have got to stop walking off while I’m sleeping.”

Derek drops Stiles’s shirt back down, “I put the shield generator on you.”

Yeah, that’s the problem. Stiles sighs halfheartedly and leans in to Derek’s body, careful of the huge ass axes attached to his back. Derek’s hands immediately slide around his hips and he presses a soft kiss against Stiles’s lips. Stiles smiles at him.

“So, are we like, dating till one of us dies?” Stiles asks. He meant it as a joke, but Derek frowns.

“Stiles.”

“Ok, ok, sorry.” Stiles moves to pull back.

Derek won’t let him go. So they kiss for a bit instead.

Around noon a slight pinging sound annoys both their ears. It melts though when they see a large parachute fall to the ground in front of them. Inside is food, really amazing food, like pot roast and potatoes, and Stiles has been so wrapped up in making out with Derek he didn’t realize how hungry he is.

“Do you think this is cause we make out now?” he asks Derek as he rips into a roll with his teeth.

Derek rolls his eyes and shoves Stiles’s thigh with his foot. He doesn’t say anything though. Stiles takes that as he’s right. There normally isn’t any romances in the Games, but every once in a while when some of the tributes would team up and get close, well, they always got more things than the others. People like to see companionship and then they like to see it fall apart and kill each other. Fun times. They take a short nap after lunch and wake to yet another pinging gift. It’s medicine this time and Derek is straddling Stiles and coating the sparkly gel on his chest before Stiles can say ‘hey, good. Medicine!’

Stiles slides his hands up and down Derek’s thighs as he spreads the gel over his wound. His brows are furrowed down in concern and he’s being extra gentle with his touch. Stiles can’t stop smiling up at him.

It’s kind of adorable.

Just to feel slightly less lovey-dovey, Stiles clears his throat deep and long, “so, where’d you go this morning?”

Derek grunts and scopes up another finger full of the gel, “I walked the perimeter of the jungle.” He spreads it over the middle of Stiles's wound and he winces.

What.

“What.” Stiles’s hands freeze on Derek’s thighs, “by yourself.”

Derek sighs, “Yes, by myself.”

“What the hell?”

“I didn’t go in. I was just checking to see if she put up any land mines.”

Oh land mines, bombs, things that can blow his kinda-sorta-first and last ever boyfriend sky high.

“Land mines.” Stiles mimics.

“Yes, there were land mines in the weapons supply at the start of the games.”

Whoa, what? Derek had gotten that close in the cornucopia?

“Why didn’t you take them?” Stiles slaps Derek’s hip for good measure.

Derek glares down at him and swipes some medicine harder than before over Stiles chest.

“I was running for my life. Sorry I forgot to stop and get you land mines.” Derek sasses.

Stiles smiles, Derek did stop and get him his throwing knives though.

“You stopped and got me knives.”

Derek blushes and grumbles something incoherent. Stiles chuckles and leans up to press a quick kiss to Derek’s drying lips. Derek follows him when he pulls back, sliding his hands up Stiles’s bare stomach and carefully over his healing chest. He places soft kisses on Stiles’s collar bone and neck, traveling up to his jaw line. He stops and nips at his jaw just above his neck tendon. It tickles a bit, but Stiles wouldn’t be able to stop smiling anyway so it doesn’t really matter.

“What do you think they’ll give us if we fuck?” Stiles wonders aloud just as Derek is nipping his ear, “ _ow_! Shit, Derek.” He bites a little too hard.

Derek buries his face in Stiles’s shoulder, Stiles can feel Derek’s face heating up on his skin, “I can’t believe you just said that.” He mumbles.

And yes he did, to the whole wide world. Stiles blushes, he is so in trouble if he wins. His Dad will kick his ass. But Derek is back to giving him hickeys so he lets himself get lost in his mind.

A cannon booming in their ears will ruin the mood for sure though.

Derek and he freeze wide eyed and shaky.

“Lydia…” Stiles murmurs.

Derek shakes his head, though he looks pale, “It could be someone else.”

Jackson or Kate, but it’s highly unlikely.

They don’t make out for the rest of the day. Stiles lays on his back staring hard at the sky, watching as it slowly turns darker. Derek gets restless. He does sit ups and pushups and jogs around the inner circle until Stiles snaps at him. They should have just gone in after her this morning. No amount of prepping and studying is worth Lydia’s life. No amount of _sucking face_ is worth her life.  Stiles tells himself he’s angry at Derek for making them wait a day to go in after her.

But really he’s just mad at himself. He should have kept by her. He should have wished for her to be safe.

Derek settles by him even when Stiles huffs at him and drags Stiles’s head into his lap. Every so often he’ll say ‘it’s not Lydia.’ Stiles pretends to believe him. When the sky finally starts to fade orange and purple, Stiles feels his entire body get so tense it’s as if he’s pain is going to burst out. Derek rubs circles on his healed chest and they stare hard at the sky. Stiles wonders how Derek managed to be so understanding when they really didn’t know each other at all. Everything he knew about Derek is because of the Games.

He hates that.

The familiar anthem blares across the arena and when the banner flashes across the star covered dome Stiles starts shaking.

It’s not Lydia.

It’s Jackson.

Derek is leaning over him, pressing upside down kisses to his lips and chin.

Lydia’s still alive.

“She got away?” Stiles whispers.

Derek shrugs.

They don’t sleep soundlessly, but they sleep better than Stiles thought. It’s barely sunrise in the arena when they rise and clip, strap, and belt on their weapons. It’s the third day since the last natural disaster took out the southern section. The jungle has a limited life span left. They have to get in and find Lydia and get out before then. Derek guesses forty-eight hours, Stiles twenty-four since all that’s happened is almost porn and Jackson’s death. People will be getting bored soon. 

It doesn’t take them long to maneuver around the ruins now, they’ve gotten used to them and know the quick paths out by heart. They stand on the end of the grass line at the looming jungle in front of them before the sun is completely up. 

This is it, the end, the final boss, Kate’s domain.

More fog and mist roll out from the jungle than normal and if Stiles listens carefully he thinks he can hear whispering warning him away. But it could be his exhaustion. Derek is tense next to him and keeps running his thumb over the bottom handle of one of his axes.

“Stiles,” he says, standing so close they might as well be touching, “one more thing, about Kate.”

Stiles swallows, “yeah?”

“She tried to burn my family alive.” Derek whispers, like he’s afraid if he says it too loud Kate will hear and come roaring and burning a path right to him.

“Holy shit.” Stiles can’t think of anything else to say. What does someone say to that?

“Just don’t hesitate.” Derek says and he takes the first step into the grass, towards the dark and looming jungle.

Fear racks Stiles’s body, but Derek’s strong form moving forward makes him follow. The distance of the grass doesn’t take them more than a few minutes and as they step across the threshold of the jungle, the fog swallows them up, thick, choking, and deadly.

 

 

___

Notes: Seriously you guys, thanks again! You guys have been great and super inspiring! I'm glad you guys like it so much! Th next few chapters will take just a bit longer to put up, I want to give you guys a few nice and long ones to read. :) Let me know what you think!! I tots appreciate it!! 


	9. When They Come For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hotter in the jungle than anywhere else in the arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, so long. I think I'll get the next chapter up by the end of this weekend though guys. Thanks so much for reading and the comments and kudos! You guys have been tots making my week! :)

 

 

 

They’ve been walking for hours. It’s hotter in the jungle than anywhere else in the arena. Sweat slides down Stiles’s neck, his shirt refusing to unstick itself from his back. Dizziness swarms his head, clouding it up like the foggy jungle he walks in. Sound is swallowed up by the thickness of the vegetation, not like the woods, where every pin drop could be heard. His chest is tight, near panic the moment they stepped into the jungle. The trees and vines crowd in on them, pushing and pushing and Stiles feels like he’s trapped in a tiny room with no way out.

It’s suffocating.

Derek is only a few steps in front of him, but the ferns and exotic planets block his view for the most part. Their large leaves smacking into his face and body, tangling his feet and legs. It’s like walking through waist high mud and Stiles only reassurance that Derek isn’t lost to him is the occasional glimpse of his sweating neck and shoulders, the glimmer of black hair amongst the green and browns. His heart beats fast; his eyes skid around for any sudden danger. There is nothing yet, only the ever thickening plants and fog. It’s got to be around midday and Stiles is pretty sure they are barely into the jungle. It’s a long and tiring task to maneuver through all the plants.

Stiles stops short, his breathing coming out heavier then he likes to admit. It takes Derek a moment to realize that Stiles’s clumsier footsteps aren’t echoing his own. He doubles back, hacking down some plants with one of his axes. Even though sweat is pouring off him too, Derek pushes in tight to Stiles, cupping his face and wiping away some sweat drops. He frowns at Stiles and ever so slightly tilts his head one way and then the next.

“You need water.” Derek whispers.

Stiles swallows and manages not to wince at the dryness in his throat, “so do you.” He says.

Derek looks tired and he keeps licking his lips, trying to wet them.

At this rate, the jungle will kill them before they even get near Kate or Lydia.

Stiles sighs and leans against Derek, ignoring the uncomfortable body heat that comes with the comfort of touch.

“This is taking too long.” He mumbles against Derek’s slick shoulder.

Derek makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat and gently pushes Stiles back to stand on his own.

“We’re making more progress than you think.”

They push on.

A few hours more and Stiles can’t help look at the itching feeling in the back of his mind. They had a limited time in the jungle before the Gamemakers set another disaster to destroy it. So far, the jungle has lasted the longest between each section and Stiles feels that their luck will run out soon. He doesn’t want to be trapped in this bubble when it happens. Not even Derek would be able to move fast enough to get out in time. There is no space, no air.

The light seems to be blocked out though Stiles knows it’s only early afternoon. The fog is so thick that Stiles has a slight panic attack every few minutes, he can’t see Derek in front of him at all. All he can hear is heavy breathing every so often and it manages to calm him down just enough. That and the thought of Lydia still being alive.

He doesn’t see how she could get out of the jungle though; he doesn’t even understand how Jackson got her through this hell so quickly. He hopes she’s somewhat safe; her cannon hadn’t gone off yet. He’s just counting that as a good thing, a sign she escaped. If she’s wandering around the jungle, it might take them days just to find her. His stomach drops, they’ll all probably die from the inevitable disaster that will strike.

The light is gone completely from the jungle now, Stiles only just manages to keep on his feet after he runs right into Derek’s halted bulk. In the distance, a faint orange glow is scattered throughout the horizon.

Fire, it seems, probably lanterns, flash lights, something. They’ve hit Kate’s hideout.

Derek grabs his wrist and pulls Stiles around next to him, “don’t walk behind me,” he says.

Stiles nods, even though Derek can barely see him. They move on together, slower, ears straining and eyes guarded. Stiles keeps rubbing the handle on his knives, Derek’s grip is tighter on his unsheathed axe. They get to the first lanterns quickly; two on each side of them and Stiles can now see the two rows of them, making an imaginary road through less thicker parts of the jungle.

A rotting smell hits their noses after the third set of lights, its strong and makes Stiles’s eyes sting.

They see the dead animal carcass hanging from trees and lining the floor soon after. Stiles wrinkles his nose and ignores the spike of fear in his chest. The narrow ‘road’ leads them on for about ten minutes and the smell only gets stronger. The jungle final opens up a bit. There’s a large thick tree in the center of a crazily cut out circle of jungle. Vines hang from the tree in dangerous ways, reaching out to the canopy from the cleared floor, dangling lose, others twisting and turning around each other. Lanterns and lights scatter the area, and small patches of sunlight gleam in through the holes of the jungle. Sun rays cast an eerily green light. Stiles swears he can hear whispering.

It takes both of them a few minutes to actually register what is in front of them. Their eyes adjust and Stiles can see the upwards of weapons from the beginning of the games scattered around. They stick up from the dirt; hang from trees, lean in piles. Every weapon that the Capitol gave to them to use, all here, with Kate and the Careers. There are even more dead animals hanging, they are older, more rotted and so many. It takes Stiles a moment to even recognize what else is among them, there are so many.

“Oh my god,” Stiles subconsciously shifts closer to Derek, who looks as if he has just spotted what Stiles had.

Hanging in the large tree, bloody and dis-limbed is the top half of Jackson. He’s only got one arm and his neck looks violently broken. There is blood clotted up in his eyes and dripping from his open mouth. The smell seems to intensify now that they’ve spotted him.

Kate had ripped his body and hung him for Panem to see.

And then Stiles spotted more. What looked like the lower half of a young girl, hanging near Jackson’s body. The more he looked the more he saw. An arm, a leg, torsos, at least five different tributes. Their bodies torn apart and hung. Bodies of children. 

Stiles had to swallow the bile rising in his throat.

“How…” Derek mumbles, covering his nose.

Their arms, their left ones are not anywhere in sight. She cut off their arms with the tracker in them and left it for the shuttle to take, stealing the body to take back to her hideout.

“This is seriously fucked up.” Stiles whispers as they move on in, eyeing the body parts and animal carcasses.

Why would she do this? A scare tactic maybe, but-

“Urgh,” Derek and him coke out the same disgusted sound as they get closer.

Bits of the flesh have been ripped off the bodies and Stiles knows where the missing body parts are now.

Kate’s been eating them. She killed Jackson for fresher meat.

Stiles spins away from Derek and heaves up the food he had yesterday. Tears sting his eyes from the smell and the pain of bile in his throat. He just keeps thinking about Jackson’s face and the few times the blonde had smiled during training.

Not even a Career deserves this.

Derek’s hand is at the back of his neck, rubbing, “come on,” he says lowly, “we’ve got to find Lydia.”

They find a large opening at the base of the large tree, its trunk just as wide as the red woods from the western section. They slip in and find a weirdly carved twist of thick vines that run up the tree. They climb it fast and quiet, unsure if Kate is near or not.

The vines spread out and open, following the thick branches and lead them up to the base where the trunk and branches split. A terribly held together wooden platform rests on the center of the tree. There are blankets and jackets and weapons strained about. Four thick sleeping bags are piled at one corner and a small stone circle encloses a burnt out fire sight. There are blood stains on the tree and the wooden panels under their feet. Some of it fresh. Stiles swallows and ignores his dripping sweat.

The whole place is creepy and only arises more questions. There is still no Kate.

Stiles scrambles up the tree as far as he can to overlook the jungle, but all he can see is fog and darkness. He falls back down to Derek in a huff. They climb down the base of the tree and step back out into the messy cleared circle. Derek looks hard into the darkness of deepest east of the jungle.

Stiles can’t stop staring at Jackson’s half body hanging in the front of the tree.

“We should take him down.” He says to the mist.

Derek frowns, “we don’t have time.”

“We can’t just leave him up there.” Stiles snips back.

Derek just stares at him.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“He wouldn’t have taken you down.” Derek says and Stiles hates the shutter of truth that runs through him.

Stiles huffs and glances back up at Jackson’s body. They could at least do something. He wanders away from Derek, feeling the green-blue eyes on him the whole time. He looks around the weapons on the floor and finds a small lighter, fire. He throws a knife at the main vine holding Jackson. It creaks and then snaps under the weight, Jackson’s body falls to the ground with a wet smack.

Pulling his shirt over his mouth and nose, Stiles moves to stand over Jackson's half body. He reaches out with a shaky hand and closes the blonde’s eyes.

“I hate you for taking Lydia,” he says after a bit of silence.

He can almost feel all eyes of Panem on his back. He wants to look up into the cameras, speak to the Capitol and tell them all the things he hates about them. But he can’t, it’ll cost too much, so he just speaks to Jackson instead.

“I hate you for killing those kids. For Boyd,” he clicks the lighter open, the small flame warm in his hand, “but this isn’t revenge,” he stoops and holds the flame out to the driest piece of cloth left on Jackson he can see, “this is pity. This is sympathy for your District and for your parents. Not for you.”

Jackson’s body lights up easily and Stiles steps back as the smell of burning flesh gets too strong. He can only see his father’s face in his mind and how he would feel if someone cut Stiles up and ate his body.

Stiles hated Jackson almost as much as he hates Kate, but parents and friends knew a different side to him and they at least deserved to have some kind of peace of mind.

He walks back to Derek and they head into the darkness again. They only get a few paces out, the fire catching on to the tree and other bodies, he can hear it crackling and growing. A high scream manages to make it through the thickness of the jungle to them. 

Derek and he are running now, stumbling every so often when a vine catches their ankles. Their arms and faces get cut from low branches and sharp leafs, but they don’t let up. Lydia’s screaming gets louder and longer. They are getting closer.

Stiles’s heart is pumping; he hates how he’s always running towards screaming.

The jungle starts to lighten and thin the faster they go. Faster and faster until they stumble out into a blinding sunlight. The dirt under their shoes turns finer, softer, into sand. The rush of waves hit their ears and salty air fills their lungs.

The jungle spills out into a section of ocean and white sanded beaches.

Half way between the waves and the jungle stands Kate, her arm locked tight around Lydia’s neck and head, hand pressing a small blade deep into her skin, dragging slowly and shallowly. They are both bloody and dirty and dark among the blinding sand and sky.

Derek rushes forward first, diving for Kate.

Stiles manages to catch Lydia before she falls weakly to the sand, eyes on Derek as he wrestles with Kate in the fine earth.

“Lydia,” Stiles breathes out, he brushes back a harden blood filled lock of her hair.

“Hey, you found me.” She says back. Her voice is raw like she has been screaming for hours.

“Hell yeah we did.”

She smiles at him.

Derek has the upper hand on Kate, who is thinner than Stiles remembers and desperateness pours from her every move. The hidden crazy in her eyes is wide and obvious now. She’s laughing hysterically, hard, cold, a little too high. She’s weak from her days without real food and water. Derek’s beating her no problem.

Stiles gets Lydia to her feet, pressing hard on whatever fresh wounds he can find, she has so many though. He’s covered in her blood already. He’s just got his shirt ripped and wrapped tight around her thigh when a shaking so strong makes them both stumble back into the sand. Stiles sees Derek stumble and fall away from Kate, who crashes right after him.

The quake rises like a crescendo and then is suddenly gone. The arena is silent for all of a few seconds and a distant hissing reaches Stiles’s ears. He scrambles up, dragging Lydia with him to look out over the ocean. He can see it rising, small, but moving vast, a tsunami.

“Fuck.” Stiles curses, “Derek!” he shouts, already dragging Lydia back towards the jungle.

Derek untangles himself from Kate and snaps her shoulders around so hard she screams and falls to the sand.

“Derek!” Stiles calls again. He won’t have time to finish off Kate, they have to start running now, “let’s go!” his voice cracks a bit, eyes staring wide at the quickly moving giant wave.

They have to get all the way through the jungle. He ignores the doubt in his mind and starts pushing Lydia to run as Derek dashes for the tree line.

Kate lays trembling and shaking and screaming after them on the beach.

They have maybe ten minutes before the wave reaches shore. It took them hours just to get through the first half of the jungle.

Stiles doesn’t know where Derek is, but he can hear him crashing through the jungle somewhere off to his right. He pushes Lydia to run faster, even though she’s bleeding and tired. The sound of falling trees and breaking vegetation reaches his ears and he knows the wave will be on them soon. He starts panicking and just screaming for them to move and move faster. In the distance, as they close in on Kate’s hideout, a faint glow is brewing.

Fuck, he set the jungle on fire. He’s trapped them.

They still run towards the fire and burst out into the shitty clearing. The fire is roaring up the large tree and sneaking over on vines to the rest of the jungle. Behind them, the rushing of water is getting closer.

Derek bursts out of the tree line and grabs both Lydia and Stiles wrists, “come on, don’t stop.” He yells and drags them into the burning jungle, out west.

The fog is mixing with smoke from the burning fire and Stiles doesn’t really understand how a place this damp is catching so fast. It’s burning a path for them to run through and Stiles can’t believe their luck.

Which runs out the moment he thinks it. The ground starts shaking again, harder than before and the three of them go tumbling down into the jungle’s ferns and mud. Salt water is quickly gathering around Stile’s hands and knees, he glances back and sees water rising up from out of nowhere. The large wave had disappeared and simmered down to filling the jungle like a bath tub. The shaking is sure to trigger another tidal wave, bigger this time.

He’s slipping and flailing and shouting as he tries to get up. Derek grabs him and hauls him to his feet before giving him a rough shove forward.

Keep running. Yeah, Stiles can do that. The shaking finally stops and they are running through thick knee high mud-water now. Lydia is still fairing pretty well, she’s got a lead on them. He’s soaked with muddy ocean water and sweat by the time the jungle starts to let in light again.

They’re just about to the edge of the jungle when he hears Derek give a shout and there’s a loud splashing behind him. He turns to see Kate yanking out a slim knife from Derek’s shoulder. She’s caked with mud and dripping with blood and water, she looks something other than human.

Stiles lurches one of his last couple of knives in her direction as she goes in for another stab to Derek. His knife hits her in the side and she screams deep and animalistic. She doesn’t get off of Derek though; instead she swipes out with the knife, catching Derek across the nose.

Stiles is rushing as fast as he can back to Derek, trying not to look at the wall of water he can see heading their way. Lydia is screaming after him, splashing more than he is. Stiles gets to them only to be shoved back into the water. His head goes down and he feels long, thin fingers wrap around his throat, holding him down under the murky water. He hears muffled screaming and then he’s being pulled back up, Derek looming above him, bleeding and fear bright in his eyes.

Kate is screaming in pain, Derek had slashed her back with one of his axes, now lost somewhere in the raising water. Lydia makes it too them and is dragging both him and Derek clumsily through the now waist high water. The wave is coming fast on them and they are almost out into the center of the arena.

It’s just a mad dash, spitting out water and half swimming, running to get away from drowning. Fear is edged onto their minds and Stiles can barely breathe. Everything is going numb and with a weird rushing and pop sound, he stumbles and falls right into the grass circle. He sees the weird light tingles that shoot across the jungle section, a barrier, to keep the tsunami from flooding the ruins.

Derek and Lydia are still struggling to get out, caught in vines and leafs floating by.

Everything seems to slow down as he sees the wall of water descending on them. Out of nowhere, Kate shoots out of the water like a shark and latches onto Derek. She’s half screaming half cackling and pulling Derek down into the water.

Stiles scrambles up and screams, he runs right for the barrier only to be knocked back. A numbing runs through his entire body.  He can’t get back through.

“Derek!” he jumps back up and pounds hard on the invisible wall, ignoring the tingling and the rush of light where he punched it.

The wave is nearly on them now, Lydia is fighting to get Kate off of Derek and it’s just a big mess of splashing and limbs.

And then time comes to a stop. Stiles can only hear his heavy breathing, feel his heart beating its way out of his chest.

Lydia hikes out Derek’s second axe from him. She swings hard, catching Kate right in the arm and almost taking it off. Derek is lurched forward by the momentum of the water and Lydia’s save. Kate is screaming so viciously her voice is horse; she’s reaching for Derek again.

Stiles’s heart stops completely.

Lydia shoves herself in-between Derek and Kate and pushes back against Derek, swinging her legs up to kick Kate back into the wave that’s upon them. There’s a second where Lydia glances back and catches Stiles’s eye.

She smiles at him, through all the grit and blood and pain of the Games. She smiles real and true and bright.

And she shoves Derek right through the barrier. He topples out, falling down onto Stiles.

The wave crashes against it, tall and powerful, consuming Kate and Lydia.

Stiles’s scream erupts from the darkness and the pain in his heart. He slams against the barrier as the water slushes back and forth and starts draining faster than nature would allow. He can’t see, his tears are gathering so fast and falling viciously down his face. He keeps pounding on the barrier, feeling his hands burning with the shock of the electricity.

Derek’s got his arms around Stiles’s waist, trying to hold him back, keep him from hurting himself.

Stiles just needs to get to Lydia.

The water soaks into the ground completely, the jungle only half intact. The barrier burst with a flicker and Lydia and Kate lay on the ground, motionless.

Stiles manages to wiggle out of Derek’s arms and slides to Lydia’s side in the damp ground.

He turns her over and shakes and shakes. He pushes her hair back and screams at her to wake up. He can’t feel anything, he can’t think. He pushes on her chest, gives her his air but nothing. She does nothing.

“Stiles…” Derek’s voice is soft and barely heard. Stiles shoves him away in agony and cripples down over Lydia’s tiny cold body.

Two cannons ring loud in the sky.

He cries until he’s all dried out and then he just heaves out deep breathes. He freaks when he sees her dirtied face and starts pushing at the mud and blood, trying to scrub her clean.

Lydia is beautiful and she doesn’t deserve to look like this. Her hair should be bright and strawberry, not dingy and dark. Her skin should be glowing and clean, fresh, not bruised, cut and pale.

The panic finally starts to settle as he wipes away most of the mud, her face clearer.

He’s aware of Derek’s hand rubbing at his neck, his body kneeled close to him and giving him a clean section of his shirt for Lydia.

He soothes away as much dirt and blood as he can, now with a gentle and an aware touch. He brushes down her hair and tucks her locks behind her left ear, the way she always wore it back home.

Stiles presses his lips to her forehead and leans back on his legs. Derek is a strong presence next to him, leaning against his side. He knows Derek’s eyes are on the lifeless and mangled body of Kate though.

The sun is starting to set and a golden glow casts over them, brightening up Lydia’s body. She could almost be sleeping. Stiles presses three fingers to his lips and gently turns them toward Lydia, low, no higher than his head, but all the same gesture of his District.

Derek brushes a hand over her hair and whispers something soft that Stiles doesn’t catch.

It takes everything left in Stiles to walk with Derek through the clean dry grass. They curl up against the outer ruins, feet and legs hidden in the sea grass and watch as a shuttle comes and takes away Kate and Lydia’s bodies. Eventually they curl up together as the sun disappears and fall asleep, no danger to awake them.

**

The sun is not up when Stiles is pulled from his sleep. Something seems off and he wakes to his side cold. Derek isn’t cuddled next to him. He panics and looks around widely, but a foolish heat rises to his cheeks when he notices Derek curled on his side, facing away from him. A sweat is broken out over Derek and he looks pale and flushed at the same time.

“Derek.” Stiles whispers loudly in the night, he leans over his only fellow tribute.

Derek barely moves and Stiles pulls him more onto his back. Stiles sucks in tight air at the sight of Derek’s shoulder. In Lydia’s death Stiles completely forgot how badly injured Derek had gotten. Shame rushed through him and he thought about how his Father checked out after his Mother’s death. At the anger he had felt towards him and the struggle they had, still have. He'd been heading down that path himself. 

Stiles soothes back Derek’s hair and pulls the sliced shirt down to expose the stab wound. It’s festering and oozing and flaming red.

So this is why the Gamemakers haven’t ended them yet, they are letting Derek die off slowly. More dramatic that way.

Stiles rips Derek’s shirt more, clearing the muddy and still damp fabric from the deep wound. He has nothing to clean it with and nothing to rinse it with. Stiles feels frustration seep in and after a few minutes of circling around the idea of his helplessness, he just curls down on Derek’s chest.

He doesn’t sleep though, he just waits until the sun starts to rise and Derek stirs again, more awake this time.

“Stiles.” He mutters. His movement is weak and Stiles sits up.

“Hey,” he winces for Derek when he tries to move the wrong way, “do you need anything?”

Dumb question, Stiles thinks. He can’t give Derek anything except body warmth and that won’t save him from an infection. He feels the tears of his frustration spike his eyes.

Derek chuckles, “No.”

Water, medicine, not to be alive in a stupid dictator’s reign. That's what Stiles wants to give Derek. 

Stiles leans his back on Derek’s side and pulls his knees up. The end of the games will be this, just the two of them, slowly dying. Derek of infection, Stiles of hunger. Maybe the capitol will have pity on them and kill them both.

Of course, Stiles could always end Derek’s suffering, kill him himself and go home the crowned winner of the Hunger Games. He swallows.

“Hey,” Derek croaks, “you could do me a favor.” The tone in Derek’s voice is the same tone of Stiles’s darkest thought.

“No,” Stiles bites out. He knows what Derek is asking and there is no way he is doing it, “I’m not doing that.”

“It’s the only way.” Derek says, he brushes a limp hand across Stiles’s thigh.

The only quick way.

“No, I’m not killing you.”

Derek stares blankly up at the sky, “I’m dying anyway.”

Stiles snorts, “So am I.”

“Not as fast as me.”

Stiles sighs and rubs his temples, “are we really having this argument?”

Derek smirks and glances at Stiles, “yep,” he knocks Stiles’s thigh, “so, what’s it going to be, Twelve?”

He ignores the nickname and the gentleness in his voice all together.

“No. I’m not doing it.” Stiles makes it a point not to look at Derek. The silence isn’t long, but it’s loud and Derek’s labored breathing is stabbing Stiles’s chest.

“We could die together,” Derek whispers.

Stiles whips his head around to look at Derek. He’s glaring up at the sky, at the Capitol. Daring them to finish them off right now.

There’s never not been a winner before. Without a winner, there is no motivation for tributes to fight. And without that, there is no game. If they were all just going to die anyway. Not only would it be different, but it would upset the Capitol, because they didn’t like to be controlled.

For the first time, Stiles thinks he sees what Derek Hale is really thinking. He can see the plan that Derek probably had all along in his head. Defy the Capitol; rebel as much as he could. From the moment of helping another tribute, Stiles, out in training. To joining a group that the Capitol knew wouldn’t turn on each other. Derek’s every choice suddenly seems to have a different motive.

He remembers what Derek said up on the roof. No reason to fear the Capitol, not if the Games ended. No winners, no Games.

Stiles swallows his anger that flares up. Did Derek really have any interest in him; did Derek really even care about him, about any of them? Would he just kill Stiles and then himself right after to prove a point?

A fear that Stiles hasn’t felt since he first saw Derek mixes with his rage. A fear of Derek.

And then the ground shifts under them.

The ruins and the grass shake and begin to move, downward. The empty sections of the arena start to raise above their heads, Stiles scrambles to his feet, over Derek, protective and ready.

The shaking stops and when the outer rings of the arena are about seven feet above them, both sections come to a stop too. Stiles can hear clanging and gears turning and the bright sunlight is suddenly blinding. He shuts his eyes and cringes away. There’s a loud ringing and then the light recedes to normal.

The ruins are smaller now, cleaner. The high walls of the ruins are gone and instead, just a rubble built, waist high maze. Stiles can see a magnificent pillar gleaming in the center.

He glances down at Derek to see if he’s ok. Derek is sitting up the best he can and craning his neck to see what has changed.

The outer ring above them is a wall of dark marble, cool looking in the lasting heat. Lines in the grass glow blue light, zig zagging about and running up the dark marble and over the top. All of them meet in the middle, to the pillar in the center of the new ruins.

Stiles counts four glowing lines.

Derek and him look at each other in confusion.

A moment later a voice sounds over the arena, a female voice. It’s calm and cheery. She’s the lead Gamemaker.

“There are four key pieces in the walls of the outer ring,” doors appear on the thick dark marble with a light glow, “if gathered and placed correctly in the center of the pillar you will _both_ be the winners.”

Stiles frowns and steps toward the pillar in disbelief, something’s not right. It’s too easy, there has to be something else. The Capitol would never just give them this unique opportunity. 

That something else lets out a strangled shout and Stiles spins around to find Derek being strapped down by thick metal vines to the ground. A robotic arm is surging up out of the ground next to him, a syringe shinning in the sunlight. Stiles growls and rushes to kick the arm away, but a zap knocks him back onto his ass.

A shield has been put in place over Derek and the arm.

“However,” the voice is back, “you only have until the infection reaches Tribute Seven’s heart.”

And the needle is stuck deep into Derek’s arm. Derek growls through a half scream and Stiles sees his veins popping out of his skin.

A holographic  timer pops up above the pillar in the center, large and a deep red. It flickers, stuck on one hour.

Stiles looks at Derek in a panic. The robot arm has disappeared into the ground again and the restrains are freeing Derek.

“What the fuck,” Derek hisses out as Stiles kneels to him, “I already have an infection. They didn’t have to inject me with one.”

“Derek,” Stiles says, desperation bleeding out in his voice.

The timer flickers again and pings. The seconds start to count down. The hour has started. Derek's eyes are soft and wide when he looks up into Stiles's determined face.

Derek's brows furrow in an instant and is glaring viciously at him, “don’t,” he says, “don’t do it. Just let me die.”

They could both get out alive. All Stiles has to do is get the four key pieces. That’s it. Just get the four pieces. There are sure to be obstacles within each section, but Stiles can beat them. He can, now that his fleeting fear of Derek is pushed away with the look he's giving him. 

Derek grabs his arm, “Stiles no! It’s too dangerous.”

Stiles doesn’t care, there’s a chance and he’s going to take it. He surges in close and presses his lips hard against Derek's. He doesn't make it deep or heart pumping. Just a soft press of lips and the chance to breathe in Derek's scent, no matter how ripe it is. He pulls back with an inhale of breath and looks into Derek's muti-colored eyes. He can get them both out.

He rips his arm from Derek’s grasp and rushes toward the first door, where the jungle had stood just last night. He ignores Derek’s shouting after him. He doesn’t care how difficult it will be to get to the keys. He can do it. He can save Derek.

The door fades into a hologram the second he gets close. One moment he can hear Derek’s desperate shouts, broken and hurt, the next _nothing_. It’s cool and the air is crisp and clean. Behind him, the door is replaced with marble and he’s swallowed up by darkness.

 

 

 

__

I dunno guys, am I dragging this on too much? :)


	10. Safe and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty seven minutes left on the countdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, who knew that Daniel Sharman isn't American? I tots forgot that, his accent surprised me like no other today. :/ Well, props on the American accent in Teen wolf Sharman. Made me forget. Hahahaha.....-_- Anyway, sorry for the long wait! Thanks for reading guys! :)

 

 

 

He’s expecting the jungle to reappear before him, but the hallway stays dark as he slowly moves down, hands reached out, searching. It’s gotten colder the more he walks and he starts to shiver in his ripped t-shirt and pants. He doesn’t have any weapons and he barely has any strength. The only thing that keeps him moving is Derek’s pained gasps ringing in his ears and the knowledge that they could both come out of this alive.

A faint light finally reaches his vision and he steps out into a large stadium sized room. It’s covered in red wood trees and ivy. The air is near freezing and there is a stillness that only comes with the hush of winter snow. Above the forest a high dark ceiling is almost completely covered in grey, fluffy clouds.  It starts to snow the moment Stiles puts his foot down onto the soft earth of the woods. The forest floor is blanketed in patches with the softest snow Stiles has ever felt. It’s silent and still and Stiles can’t help the serene tingle spreading though him.

Every time his feet crunches on the snow, he waits for something to come at him, but nothing happens. He reaches the far side of the room in minutes. There is nothing though, no key, no danger. Just an icy black wall. Stiles flows to the right side of the room on a jog, he’s only got an hour to go through the four sections. He’s already been in this one for seven minutes.

He finds nothing at the right corner. He breaks into a run to the left and still nothing.

No enemies, no key.

Frustrated, Stiles runs to what seems to be the center of the room. There’s a break in the trees and a large snow patch is illuminated by light rays and soft falling snow. He stands there shivering and thinking. What the hell is he supposed to do? He has no clue, nothing to go on. Just a timer and a poison that will kill Derek.

He glares up at the snow clouds when he sees a glint amongst the trees. There, just slightly off center, hanging from the trees is a glittery, glass sphere. Inside a dark stone. That has to be the key.

He scrambles up the large tree, climbing the thick branches with grace and ease, despite his tired limbs and growling stomach. The sphere is dangling at the end of a thick branch and Stiles pulls it’s chain up in seconds, snatching the stone from the bowl. It’s smooth, like marble and cold in his hand. It’s a deep blue, with a frosty texture glowing in the center. He pockets it and starts his climb down.

He’s half way when the forest starts to shake. His mind races and he thinks of a natural disaster in an instant, but nothing catastrophic is happening.

Instead, the room is shifting, the ground pulling apart and walls rising up. The room is changing and growing smaller and Stiles whips his neck around, the entrance is slowly closing.

He drops the rest of the way to the ground. Numbing pain stabs up his shins but he dashes for the doorway, the stone light in his pocket.

The walls are rising faster and Stiles can feel the walls pushing in. He ducks, jumps, skids, and climbs over the smooth marble rising up to block him. The snow is falling faster, making him loose speed and the trees are receding into the nothingness of the arena as marble takes their place. He’s only a few feet from the entrance and the snow suddenly is thigh high and he’s stopped dead from a run to a slow trudge. The door way is half way closed.

Stiles curses and starts swiping at the snow in front of him with his hands. It’s colder than the snow back home and his hands are numb and pale in seconds. The cold is seeping into his clothes and down to his bones, a chill so deep he feels it with every beat of his heart.

He scrambles up and over the last foot or so, diving for the just wide enough crack for him to shimmy under.

Stiles lays panting in darkness, snow around him and stone on his person. He made it out. He scrambles and doesn’t waste time feeling around in the dark. He knows he’s in the hallway and he makes a mad dash to the unseen door.

The light burns his eyes when he bursts out into the arena. The first thing he sees is the countdown, large and red and flickering. He’s got forty minutes left. The light from the east section glows a deep red and brighter than the pale blue lights. One section beat, three more to go.

He hears Derek shout at him, but he doesn’t go to him. It’ll just waste time. Instead he dashes up north for the next door. It phases for him just like the other one and he is once again plunged into darkness.

It’s hot in this hallway though and Stiles gets a fear of the volcano. He’ll be dead in seconds if he has to maneuver around lava. He doesn’t have Derek with him to shove him over a cracking earth. He rushes through the darkness and out into another room of blinding light.

He’s not even able to see fully but he’s running forward. Thankfully, there’s no lava that greets him. It’s sand instead. Dunes and dunes of golden, fine sand. The heat is rising and he can see the waves of it in the distance. He suddenly wishes he was back in his forest with the extra cold snow. He can already feel his dehydrated body protesting. He falls and flails through the sand when it gets deeper, but he makes it across the room in less than five minutes. He’s sweating buckets already.

He spots the glittery sphere the moment he spins around to go in a different direction. It’s sitting on top of a flat, black rock. It’s the only other object besides the sand in this room. Stiles rushes to it and falls waist deep into fine sand. He doesn’t feel it suctioning him down though. It’s not quick sand. It’s just too fine to keep him up. He can feel the bottom of the room with his feet no problem. This is just to slow him down.

It takes him five minutes to get to the sphere. The stone inside is a fiery red and glints different hues of orange and red in the light. It's warm in his hands. He pockets it with the first stone.

If he's been keeping track right, he’s got half an hour left. He jumps right into the sand, ready for a struggle, but the sand is sinking.

A rough pull drags him onto his back and he starts sliding down slowly. The room floor is tilting down.

“Fuck.” Stiles scrambles up and starts booking it for the doorway, across the room. The center of the room is opening up into a dark pit, the floors dipping down into a cone, the angles getting steeper and steeper.

More and more flat black stones appear, they are stuck on the shifting floors. Stiles starts jumping to them as the angle gets steeper and steeper. His fingers are numb from the drastic temperature change, so numb they might fall off, the way they are still blue. He scrapes his knees and the rocks are burning up under his touch. The sand falling past him gets in his eyes and lungs and clothes. He barley manages to heave himself up and over the short edge that leads to the doorway.

Stiles is back into darkness and then the blinding light in less than a minute.

Derek doesn’t call out to him this time.

Twenty seven minutes left on the countdown.

The west section opens for him just as smoothly as the other two.

He doesn’t get the blinding light this time as the other two rooms. Instead he’s still in darkness. He can see a faint glow, a mint-ish green, on the far side of the room. Without any light, Stiles subconsciously slows down, his hands going out to run along the walls.

A few paces in he’s touching air, the room widening out. It’s still darker than night and a fear creeping up his back arrives. The floor feels slippery and cold air keeps brushing past his ankles. There’s a faint trickling sound around him, but he can’t tell where the water is.

Again, without much delay, he makes it to the other side of the room. The green stone is sitting in its expected sphere, on top of a black marble pedestal. He takes it in a flash and starts his slow process back across the room.

He’s only taken a few steps when the air around his ankles seems thicker, touching him more. The darkness in the room seems to be getting lighter and Stiles can just make out the thin, narrow pathway leading straight from the doorway to the key stone. All around him is shallow, inky black water. There’s a weird texture to it, silvery and thick looking. Stiles glances down at his ankles and yelps, nearly dropping the new key stone.

Black liquid is dripping grotesquely off a pale hand that’s clutching his ankle.

And then suddenly there are bodies rising from the water, dead, sick looking bodies, crawling toward him, their eyes glowing a faint yellow.

His heart rate spikes and his breathing gets shallow. Fucking _zombies._

They're crawling up onto the pathway and Stiles rips his foot from dead’s grasp. He has to jump and doge and more than once he flails down into the inky black water. It’s almost like tar, sticking to him and keeping him from moving as gracefully.

The bodies are whispering, a creepy buzz in his ears and head. He’s half way through the room when he spots her.

A corpse moving faster than the others, her hair still long and the same color as his, deep auburn. She crawls up in front of him and manages to stand on her stick thin legs. She titles her head at him, her wide eyes glowing. Her thin, dry, lips crack and part and she whispers, “Stiles,” so horse her voice is almost unrecognizable.

But Stiles will always be able to know that voice. The voice of his Mother.

The fear settled in him explodes and he suddenly can’t breathe. He falls back, chest tightening too quickly and his body shaking. This isn’t happening, this isn’t possible.

His dead mother slouches unevenly toward him, whispering his name over and over. He can barely feel the hands of other dead corpses grasping him, pulling him into the inky water. He’s numb and can’t think, can’t move.

His Mom.

Tears prick his eyes and he hates that his Dad is seeing this. Knows that it’s tearing him open and leaving him wounded and bleeding in District Twelve. Stiles won’t be there to help him through it, Stiles will be dead, trapped in a room with corpses and drowned by his own Mother.  

There are cold, small hands around his neck, his mother’s glowing eyes are right in front of his. He’s pushed down under the suddenly way deeper water and it rushes in to his lungs. Everything’s got a bubble over it and going dark.

Except Derek.

If Stiles gives up now, Derek will die.

The fight comes back to him in a rush and he’s able to see again. Everything is clearer. The hands around his neck feel impossibly too tight now and he struggles, thrashes until the weak bones of the corpses break and snap and he breaks the surface of the black water. He heaves up what’s in his lungs and throat, a thick black goop.

He scrambles to his feet and back on to the path. His mother’s body is following him, whispering his name louder, angrier.

She’s crawling pathetically towards him. She’s not his Mom though, not really. The initial shock worn off, he can think clearly. The Capitol holds back on nothing and they have the means to do anything. Of course it’s not her.

His Mother is resting back in District Twelve, waiting for him to visit her grave and tell her about Derek Hale, the tribute he fought and won the Games with.

Stiles fights his way through the dead bodies and is running back into the blinding light of the arena.

The countdown hits fifteen minutes. He takes a moment to look for Derek, who’s pulled himself up against the outer ruins. He’s pale even from where Stiles is and he can see black veins popping out of his skin, crawling slowly from his wound and injection point.

Stiles pockets the green stone and rushes south, to the last section.

There is no hallway in this one, just a large dimly light room. The second the door closes behind him, spot lights flick on, eliminating six mutated and disfigured bodies. They’re not quite human, but Stiles can make out who each one is.

Kate is dead center in front of him, her mutation rearing and ready to rip his throat. On either side of her are Erica’s more ugly mutation and Jackson’s barely recognizable one.

Lydia is next to Jackson, her hair still as red and bright as ever. Boyd is next to her, the biggest one, dark and menacing looking. Isaac is on Erica’s other side, hunched over and looming. It doesn’t suite him.

They all look the same and yet different. They’ve got claws, long and sharp. Their faces are pushed and molded into weird arches and shapes and their eyes are glowing brightly in the dimness.

Stiles can see the last key stone resting behind them.

He doesn’t have any weapons.

He takes them at a full speed instead.

Kate lets out a high screech that he guesses could be a roar, but it’s too horse. She’s rushing at him and it makes the others follow her lead.

He barely manages to roll his way around Kate before Boyd is crashing down on him. He swipes him and deep claw marks rip across his stomach and _seriously_ , why does everyone always go for that part of him?

He manages a hard kick to Boyd’s stomach and he’s scrambling back up, just fast enough for Erica to come jumping at him and miss. She collides with Boyd instead and Stiles hears her let out a loud whine.

Boyd’s sunk his claws into her. The force of her run pushing them through her body.

Erica won’t be a problem for him now.

He takes off for the stone, aware that the mutations of the tributes are gaining on him. Lydia’s the closest and she leaps, tackling him back to the ground. She hisses at him, her teeth sharp and not human. She sinks them deep into his shoulder and _fuck_.

He shoves her off, and hesitates only for a moment before he gives her a good kick to the stomach. He ignores the guilt as he stomps down hard on her neck. At least her face is pushed into the ground and not staring up at him.

If he had time to let the guilt and anger linger he would, but he doesn’t.

Boyd and Jackson are now on him and Stiles manages to get them tangled up in each other. He doesn’t know how to kill them, he has no knives, he has nothing, and they are stronger than he is.

Then he sees it, on the walls, low enough for him to jump and grab are weapons. He rushes towards them, having to shake off Isaac and Kate before reaching them. He doesn’t have time to choose, so he just grabs what’s in his reach.

He swings it around, hard and it gets stuck right in Jackson’s chest. The blue glow disappears from his eyes and his mutation falls back dead. He yanks the weapon out and holds it high above his head.

It’s fitting that it’s an over sized axe. The handle is smooth and a good heavy under his hands. The blade is sharp and shines in the random spot lights, dripping with Jackson’s blood. It feels like Derek is there with him. It gives him courage, it gives him strength.

Enough so he can cut through Isaac, who’s growling and baring fangs at him. Enough to chop Boyd’s strong body down.

Enough to slice through Kate’s mutation so violently, her head comes clean off. Covered in blood of mutations he knows are not his friends and fellow tributes, Stiles dashes for the last stone. It’s so clear it is practically made of glass and just faint grey swirls in the center. He pockets it and runs for the door. He ignores the bleeding mutations, their odd shapes haunting the back of his mind.

The countdown is glowing an angry red, five minutes until the poison is too far into Derek’s body to save. Each light line is glowing a red to the center of the arena, where the pillar stands tall. Stiles wastes no time, nearly crashing the pillar over when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of it.

Four minutes left.

There are four sections on the pillar. Each section has a similar looking pattern that the stones have. He places them in the matching slots, but nothing happens. Stiles kicks the pillar. It doesn't make sense, what else could the patterns mean? He rearranges them so they are in the opposite, the blue stone in the fiery patter, the red in the icy pattern. The mint green in the swirls and the glass in the ivy shaped icon. If not the opposite, then Stiles is at a loss. Unless he's missed something in the sections and now its too late to go back and look, the sections are gone, time is almost up. He feels a panic attack coming over him, but then the pillar lights up and disappears slowly down, the ground closing up over it.

Stiles waits.

And waits.

He’s about to give in to his urge to curse and scream at the Capitol, but the ground opens back up and a needle is replaced where the stones were. Stiles doesn’t even wait for the pillar to finish moving up.

He’s only got two minutes left. He rushes over the smaller ruins and slides down onto the grass next to Derek, who is curled in on himself. His breathing is labored and wet sounding. Black veins cover his hands and arms so much his skin looks a different color.  He pulls Derek up between his legs and against him, plunging the needle into his arm.

Stiles is covered in blood and sand, he’s weary and shaking and he can’t seem to push the medicine in fast enough. Even though he can’t see the countdown, it bores into his mind.

Twenty seconds left.

The needle drops and Stiles holds Derek tight. Nothing seems to be happening.

Ten seconds left.

Stiles's hands rub roughly over Derek’s heart, trying to get the slowly fading organ back to strength.

No, this can’t happen.

“No…” Stiles whispers. They said- _they said_ if he got the keys they would both be ok.  His body is shutting down, his vision blurring in and out. He’s hot and cold all at once and his veins pulse loudly in his arms and chest.

Five seconds.

“Please…”

Four.

“Derek…”

Three.

“Come on,” he shakes Derek urgently, but weakly, he’s barely hanging on.

Two.

“Derek!”

One.

**

He wakes alone. There’s a quiet beeping to his left that rings in his ears, it’s annoying. He feels icy, weird, like there is something pumping into his veins and clouding his vision. It takes him a full minute to realize he’s not in the arena anymore.

“Derek!” he shoots up from the bed he hadn’t realized he was on.

IV’s rip at his wrists but Stiles doesn’t care. He’s clambering out of the bed and onto the freezing tile floor. He’s naked save for a loose, mint green hospital gown. His body has forgotten how to move, he can only heave down at the floor. He’s willing himself to move, get up, run and find Derek but he can’t. He collapses and then there are strange hands on him.

Voices tell someone else to get help and he’s being pulled back towards the bed. He can’t, he just can’t. _Derek._

Derek’s dead, they lied. They put him through hell and lied and killed Derek. They killed him!

Stiles roars with whatever strength he can summon and struggles against the hands and the bodies. He’ll kill them all.

He’s being strapped down, but he won’t stop yelling. _Murders, killers, fuckers_ , anything he can think of. Anything that will sting.

There’s a lot more shouting and he feels a prick of a needle and he knows they are shoving the IV’s back into him. He doesn’t want it, he can’t be that fogged up, that out of control of himself. The bonds are tight against him and his struggling does little for him, it just rocks the bed back and forth weekly.

He thinks he sees Deaton’s concerned face swim before him and it just makes him hurt even more, because all that man reminds him now is of Lydia.

Lydia who he couldn’t save.

Just like Isaac and Boyd.

Just like Derek.

He falls into darkness with pain so harsh and fresh he just wants to never wake up.

**

He wakes again to a darker room, there’s only a gentle, warm, light from his right. He’s still tied down, but his head is clearer. The IV’s in his arms itch his skin, but he can’t scratch. He can barely move. He shifts the few inches he can and turns a bit on his side. His body jerks back in surprise.

Derek Hale is asleep in a weird curvy chair next to his bed. He’s lost some of the bulk he had at the start of the games and his cheeks are hollowed out, skin gaunt over his jawline. There’s no black veins crawling up his arms though and he’s breathing normally, deep and strong. He’s slumped over, neck looking like it has a cramp in it already, but he’s alive and close to Stiles.

The icy feeling in his veins seems to vanish instantly, replaced with warmth of safety and relaxation. Derek’s not dead.

He wants to reach out, but he can’t. So he stares and stares instead.

He falls asleep with Derek’s deep breaths in rhythm with his own shallow ones.

**

The third time he wakes up, Derek is hunched over onto his bed, head resting on Stiles’s stomach and hand gently running over Stiles’s beaten up knuckles. The restraints are off of Stiles and he moves his hand to tangle in Derek’s dark strains. A smile gently curls over his face and Derek raises his head to look at Stiles.

There’s just a quiet moment of them staring softly at each other, not really believing the other one made it out of the games alive.

And then Derek is climbing on top of him, pushing him down, locking his arms around and behind Stiles’s head. His large hands gently rub the back of his skull and Derek nuzzles down against Stiles’s face, their foreheads touch. He softly bumps Stiles's nose with his own and presses a tentative and gentle kiss to his lips. Derek’s lips are warm and soft and Stiles mentally winces at his own cracked and dry ones. It must feel like kissing sand paper.

Derek doesn’t pull away though; he just crowds down over Stiles, tilting his head and slowly running the tip of his tongue over Stiles’s lips, asking for permission, asking if it’s ok. If Stiles is ok. Stiles feels safe and warm and he opens up for Derek, getting lost in the slow, lazy pressure. The kiss is clean and smooth, not hungry for more, just thirsty for knowledge that they are both alive and together.

He’s tingling when Derek pulls back softly. His blue eyes have more green in them today and his lashes are thick and long. Stiles wants to brush his fingertips against them.

“Hey lumber jack.” He whispers and it still feels too loud in the room.

Derek gives him a small shy smile that Stiles has only seen on camera, “hey Twelve,” Derek utters back and leans back in for a softer kiss.

Unfortunately, that’s when Stiles's brain starts to kick into gear. They’ve won and now what? Do they go on with whatever they are to each other? They can’t exactly call each other boyfriends, they barely know one another. And everything they do know is heavy and mixed up and probably not even completely true. It’s all twisted by the games and the Capitol.

Stiles feels his heart lurch in his chest. He doesn’t want it to be that way. He wants Derek to know everything about him and to know everything about Derek. He wants to look back on the Games and see Derek as someone who supported him and got him through it.

He pulls away from Derek and hides in his neck. He’s suddenly terrified to let him go.

Derek’s nuzzling down into his shoulder and murmuring things into his skin. He’s much more gentle then Stiles has seen him and he strikes it odd that he thought Derek didn’t have it in him to be this gentle. He hates himself a bit for that. It’s the Games influencing him. All he’s known Derek as is the boy tribute from Seven, a player in the Hunger Games.

Stiles swallows thickly and wraps his arms tight around Derek, pulling the older teen down to him. He doesn’t want to let go. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

**

When he’s checked out of the hospital, the Capitol has them back in the building before the Games. Stiles doesn’t even have to convince Derek to stay in the penthouse with him, he just follows him right into the top floor. Stiles is greeted by Deaton and Morrell, both giving him tight hugs and praising him. Deaton gives him a look of sadness for Lydia’s death though and Stiles feels less like punching him in the face.

He still wants to do so to Morrell. She’s whisking him away to the dinner table, saying how hollow his cheeks are, how unattractive it looks. His jaw ticks but he does as he’s told.

There’s a man and women that Stiles doesn’t know in the penthouse and Stiles suddenly realizes it is District Seven’s representative and mentor. Is there certain way mentors are chosen when there are more than one? Seven has had several winners in the last ten years and more before that, Stiles is sure. Working out in the forest is good preparation.

Derek seems pretty chummy with his mentor, getting a huge, prolonged hug from him and a gentle grasp behind the neck when they pull away. The District Seven representative is an older woman. Her hair is long and not dyed like most of the Capitol’s citizens. She’s even more normal looking than Morrell.

Stiles growls to himself with unknown annoyance and starts shoving food down his throat. Derek comes to sit next to him and piles on food of his own, though he starts to eat at a much slower pace than Stiles.

“Careful,” Derek’s mentor says, sitting down across from them, “you’re going to make yourself sick.”

Stiles sneers at him and the glint in his light blue eyes. There’s something familiar about him and he doesn’t know what it is. It’s a bit annoying though. Whatever the Games did to him gives Stiles a chill, there’s a deadness to his eyes that reminds Stiles of Kate.

He shoves a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth just to spite him. Derek sighs and gentle pats his back before digging into his food.

Throughout dinner Stiles listens to Deaton telling them what will happen next, when the award ceremony will happen and then the trip back home. He learns about how to react and what Panem is expecting of them. He also learns that Derek’s mentor’s name is Peter and is Derek’s fucking _uncle_.

Stiles feels a bit like a douche after that. He still forces large amounts of food in his face anyway.

After dinner and a long lecture of the next couple of days, Stiles drags himself to the bathroom for a much wanted shower. He knows the nurses at the hospital cleaned him up, but he can still feel the mutation’s blood on him and the sand and the zombie water.

It takes him forever to turn the water on because he fucking forgot how to work the showers. How stupid of him, it’s not like he had to fight a battle to the death or anything.

The water feels so good on his achy body, he moans practically throughout the whole shower, loudly. He doesn’t care if someone hears, he is just happy to clean himself and wash away some of the damage from the Games.

He has to wipe the mirror to see himself afterwards and the face staring back at him doesn’t look like his own. Even though he ate in the arena, the stress and constant terror destroyed his body faster than the amount of food he had could replenish. His face is sucked in and clinging to his bones. Dark circles make his large eyes pop unattractively out of his face and his skin is a weird pale grey color. Scars litter his body, long and thin ones, thick and short ones, even the bite from the mutated Lydia left small round patches on his shoulder. He huffs and stocks out of the bathroom.

The room is the same from before and he hates that he feels bit like being at home. He doesn’t ever want to think of the Capitol as home, but being anywhere other than the arena is such a joy that Stiles ignores the resentment. On the large bed, there’s three outfits laid out for him.

His sleepwear, which he puts on right away and marvels in the cool silkiness of them. The next one he knows is his winner clothes for the ceremony two days from now. But the last, it sends a punch to his heart. The last is his father’s shirt he wore on the reaping, fresh and clean on the bed. He'll be wearing it home. 

He picks it up and buries his face in the fabric, if he thinks hard enough, he can almost smell his Father’s dark husky scent, even though he knows it’s been washed away for weeks now. He curls down on the bed, clutching the shirt close and lets himself go. All the fear and adrenaline and stress.

He cries for Lydia and Isaac and Boyd. For the corpse that mimicked his Mother and for the mutations he had to kill.

He sleeps deep and long for the first time in weeks, without any help from drugs. Just the knowledge that he’s safe. That he’ll be seeing his Dad and Scottie soon.

In the morning, Morrell raps on his door and says to get up for breakfast. For a moment he feels like the Games haven’t even begun and he wants to rush out and tell Lydia that he made out with Derek Hale.

Of course, he feels foolish right after thinking that, but no one knows he did, so he climbs out of bed and pulls on the clothes that have been left for him over night.

Peter is the only one at the table when Stiles wonders out of his room. He slides down into a chair and starts piling food on again, shoving it in his face like last night. Peter gives him an amused chuckle.

“It’s just a rest day for you two. Tomorrow will be the ceremony.” The smile on his face unnerves Stiles, but he nods in reply.

Derek comes in all sleepy eyed and he actually stumbles a bit, it's rather adorable after Stiles gets over the fact that he’s never seen Derek in any other mode besides badass and intense pain. He’s not wearing day clothes, just the silky sweat pants given to both of them last night. They ride low on his hips and cover his feet, it’s more adorable than sexy, but Stiles flushes anyway and shoves more fruit into his mouth.

He’s gunna gain all the weight back in no time if this keeps up.

Derek falls into the seat next to him and leans heavily on Stiles's side while Peter piles food on a plate for his nephew. Stiles doesn’t hold back a chuckle. It’s all very domestic and homey. It’s ridiculous that Stiles was slitting people’s throats just a few days ago.

Deaton joins them halfway through and rambles out the schedule tomorrow before whisking off somewhere to do something. Peter disappears quickly after that as well and Derek and Stiles sit in the slightly awkward silence.

“So,” Stiles says, “your uncle.”

Derek snorts, “yeah.” He mumbles.

They fall back into silence. It must be hard, on Derek's family, having two of their loved ones thrown into the Games. Peter doesn't seem that old either, so his Games were probably still fresh in their minds. Stiles can only imagine what if felt like, having their youngest chosen and then having Derek to step in to replace him. He wants to meet them, thank them for raising a son who knows what is right and wrong. Without Derek, Stiles would be dead, died a horrible, painful death. It makes him want to be apart of their family. And it makes Stiles sad, because he doesn't know what he and Derek are, he's never really known. He desperately wants to ask what they mean to each other, if Derek still wants to try for…whatever they are.

“Are we done-with us-now?” Yep, that’s a good job, just blurt it out. It’s worked before.

Derek’s still for a moment before turning to him, food forgotten.

“Only if you want it to be,”

“I don’t know anything about you,” Stiles says.

“I don’t know anything about you, either.” Derek says unhelpfully.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Derek shrugs, “isn’t that the whole point? To get to know you?”

Stiles swallows, “w-what if you don’t like me?”

Derek smirks at him and leans in close, “I like you now.”

“Yeah,” Stiles looks away, “but all you know is about me is influenced by the Games.”

“So, I still like you.”

 That doesn’t really make sense to Stiles, “but it’s all bad stuff.”

“Didn’t seem that way to me," Derek sighs, “Stiles. What I know about you from the Games is that you won’t turn on your friends, that you’re brave enough to walk right into fear, and that you hate the Capitol as much as me.”

Stiles snorts at how great Derek is making him sound.

“What if you don’t like me?” Derek asks.

That seems a bit impossible now. Sure Derek is broody and he growls and glares a lot. But he’s honestly kind and protective and tries his hardest to do the right thing. Even if it means being an asshole while doing so.

A giggle bubbles its way past Stiles's lips and then he’s laughing into the table at the pinched expression on Derek’s face.

“Dude,” Stiles gasps, “sorry. Just, this is all a little ridiculous.”

Derek smirks at him and hauls him close with a shirt tug, smashing their lips together. Stiles laughs and smiles against Derek’s lips and he tastes like pineapple and strawberries.

And it is a little ridiculous. The fact that they are having the ‘no you’re better, no you are’ discussion. That they are so worried about what the other one thinks when they've saved each others lives.

And that Stiles is already fallen so far for Derek he’s never going to climb back from it.

He doesn’t want to either.

So they stop talking and make out at the table.

Morrell corrals them apart though and pesters Derek into showering and putting more clothes on. Something about it being indecent for a Games winner to be running around half naked.

Stiles snorts at that, obviously Morrell hasn’t seen past winners. Or looked very hard at some of the costumes during the arrival.

Stiles moves into the living room and flicks around channels on the massive television until Derek comes back from his room, hair damp and sadly, more clothes on, though the shirt is nice and form fitting, so whatever. Derek plops down next to him, crashing into Stiles's side as the couch gives under his bulk. They cuddle in close, Derek’s arm around the back of the couch, cupping Stiles's head and running his fingers through the short strains that have grown out. Stiles melts into his side and they nuzzle at each other’s necks and faces and have long, slow kisses. It's all very sappy and fantastic. 

They stay on the couch all morning, ignoring Peter’s snarky comments and Morrell’s tusks of annoyance.

They can all go fuck themselves. Stiles deserves this, _Derek_ deserves this, they just fucking won a battle to the death. They’ll make the fuck out all they want.

At lunch time they don’t sit at the table with their mentors, they just haul heavy plates to the couch and collapse against each other and watch anything other than the highlights of the Games.

Sometime around mid-afternoon, their stylists and teams come wondering in and chat away with Deaton and Peter about their schedule tomorrow, as if the mentors didn’t already know. They tune it out as long as they can, but Stiles gets irritated and twitchy and abruptly leaves for his room.

Derek follows him at a slower pace and leans in the open door way, just watching him.

Stiles curls up on his bed and stares at the wall, he’s debating reaching out to the remote so he can change the grey wall into his woods. He doesn’t move though, he's still so tired.

Derek pads over and clicks the remote for him, switching through all the pictures until it falls on woods, but not the ones that Stiles knows. These are just like the woods in Games, tall red woods, but there’s nothing else littering the forest floor like ivy. Just red woods and some smaller trees and dirt.

Derek’s weight dips on the bed in front of him. He leans back onto Stiles and reaches a hand behind Stiles and over the back of his neck, grasping him lightly. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

In a way, they know each other better than most people could ever hope to know someone. It doesn’t matter if it happened too fast, too soon, it happened and Derek and Stiles got out together.

Stiles suddenly doesn’t want to go back home. Back to being alone, with Derek miles and miles away in another District.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he wishes, just a little bit, that they were still in the arena.

Derek huffs, like he knows what Stiles is thinking and leans down, pressing his lips on the top of Stiles head. He shifts around till he’s leaning back against the headboard and Stiles is curled up on top of him. Stiles presses his ear tight against Derek’s strong heart beat and they stay that way into the night.

Derek’s head falls on top of Stiles’s and his breathing evens out. Stiles lays awake for a lot longer, wide eyed and tightening his arms around Derek’s waist.

They’ve had their one day. Tomorrow is the final part of the Games and then they’ll be shipped off and away back to their Districts, scared and damaged.

 

 

__

Notes:

Soo, that was fun. I'm thinking about two more chapters. I've also been thinking if I should do sequels, you know parallels to the last two books too. What do you guys think? Thanks for reading everyone!!! :) :) 


	11. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek lies awake in the early morning, warm under the soft covers and wishes for Stiles to be curled up next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, just in case someone doesn't know. Teen Wolf starts up again on June 3rd....sooo close and soo far away. (~now that we're here, so far awaaayy~ ok Sorry.) Props to everyone who knows that song! :)

 

 

 

Derek lies awake in the early morning, warm under the soft covers and wishes for Stiles to be curled up next to him. But he’s alone in his own room, mind scattering about. He’s going home today. Back to his family and his own woods. The tingle of the reaping holds him to the sheets and Derek can’t seem to think about anything else put the past few weeks.

His disbelief still echoing in his mind. It had shocked him to stillness when his younger brother’s name echoed in his ears. His mind hadn’t just focused on his brother as a tribute, but a tribute with Kate Argent. With fucking Kate. Derek had shouted and pushed through the other kids before he even had known what he was really doing. And then he was jumped and nearly choked by Laura and his parents and the rest of his family that crowded in on him for a last goodbye.

He hadn’t spoken to Kate on the train at all, he just stared out the window and let his Uncle’s large hands sooth away his shakes and nerves. He was the second member of his family to be a tribute. He highly doubted he would be the last. Just within the first day, Derek started to miss the red woods and the crisp air. He felt suffocated in the train and in the Capitol when he arrived.

Kate didn’t miss out on any chances to speak with him, press against him, laugh cruelly in his ear.

He had thought he was going to die suffering through his own personal version of hell.

And then Stiles Stilinski of District Twelve battled his surprised honey eyes at him and Derek forgot about everything else. He felt drawn to him and he laid awake the first night in the Capitol, staring at the dark ceiling, his chest warm and a first sense of calm since the reaping tingling in his stomach. It had been as if meeting Stiles sparked back what the reaping had taken from him.

He’d show the Capitol. He’d show them that they couldn’t kill his family, that they couldn’t force him into misery in his last days, that they couldn’t keep him from winning. And from saving.

Derek had thrown himself into protecting Stiles and whoever he deemed worthy. It was fun at first, Derek even forgot that he was supposed to kill his new found friends to win, to go back home to his family.

The day of the games, Uncle Peter had held him tight and told him to win, that nothing else mattered and with anger, he could beat out the rest. Just like he had. Derek didn’t necessarily agree, but he put up a wall anyway. The hover craft ride to the arena had only brought him emptiness, he didn’t want to end up like Uncle Peter, who was broken and the light never returned to his eyes after his own victory.

He stood in the tube, hard and ready to book it to Stiles, but then the Capitol threw him a stone. A bunch of them. After the blinding sun had shocked his system, all he had seen was the cornucopia right in front of him. The fast countdown only given him enough time to calculate what he could grab and come to terms that it would be impossible and dangerous to seek out Stiles amongst the ruins.

So he had shot for the cornucopia the second the countdown ended. He gathered what he could of the supplies, two large axes that were the perfect weight and felt strong and amazing in his hands on his back. A few of the Career’s had finally stumbled upon the cornucopia when Derek was fighting his way out of the piles of supplies.

He had just barely gotten away, grabbing a bundle of throwing knifes for Stiles if he ever found him.

Derek wasn’t stupid; he had seen the way Stiles held himself, how strong his throwing arm felt under Derek’s touch. The others underestimated Stiles, but Derek knew better than that. He just hoped he was correct in guessing what Stiles’s specialty was.

He had rushed out to the high golden grass and disappeared into the northern section, alone and adrenaline high.

From then on every cannon jolted him awake; every tree creak caught his attention. He paced the perimeter of the section, watching Kate and her Career’s guard the cornucopia. He snuck in when he could, stole what he needed and headed back to his willow tree to sit and wait. To plan.

On the full moon night, Derek was lucky enough to come across a struggling Stiles and Career. Derek didn’t know who, he didn’t care either. He just saw red at the terrified look in Stiles’s eyes. He threw an axe into the girls head before he even thought through a plan. The sting of pain in his chest was tight when Stiles had freaked and tried to get away from him.

Obviously Derek hadn’t made himself as trustworthy as he had thought.

But the days melted together from then on, just him and Stiles. And then the volcano erupted and Derek was shoving and trying his hardest to get Stiles to safety. He had no doubt it had been the end of him, he would die getting Stiles to safety.

But Stiles ended up saving him as well and they trudged around in the woods that were more like Stiles’s then Derek’s forest.

When they were reunited with their group, Derek had felt a sense of safety fall over him and he told himself to ignore it. He had to keep a look out, keep alert because Stiles was just glad to be back with Lydia and Isaac and Boyd was nowhere near in the right state to be on guard.

He just wanted to curl up with Stiles and sleep away the games.

And then they lost Isaac and Derek saw something die a little inside Stiles. He did what he could, held the younger teen close, tried to find words to comfort him, but nothing ever came out right. He watched the Games and the violence change the light in Stiles’s eyes. He held onto the anger he felt for the Capitol, used it to push on, to carry Stiles until his spirits lifted enough to move into a safer section.

Boyd’s death was sudden and Derek didn’t have any time to mourn for the strong boy, not like they had for Isaac. He had to get Stiles back to sanity, had to carry him back into the depths of the ruins. He felt ashamed at the hard head hit he had given Stiles, so ashamed that he sat as far away from the teen as he dared, hidden in the shadows of the night.

He just waited, the silence pulsing in his ears. He stared at Stiles, wishing that the Capitol never started the Games, had never existed.

The pain he felt reflected in Stiles’s eyes at the capture of Lydia. They planned and Derek’s nerves from the train came rushing back to him. After the cannon of Jackson’s death, Derek knew it was coming to an end. There was only the four of them left and the search for Lydia would bring Kate to her death.

It was just up to the Capitol how to kill the three them after that, if they got Lydia back alive.

Either way, Derek wasn’t about to turn on Stiles or Lydia. He’d kill himself it meant that Stiles could win.

The shock of that thought pushed Derek into a perimeter search in the early hours of the morning, Stiles still asleep. He’d vowed not to let anyone as close as Kate again. Not after everything she had done. But here he was, falling for Stiles, someone he had only known for a few weeks. He felt crazy and stupid and he just wanted Laura to kick some sense into him.

Though, the way his family was, they’d encourage this new found spark until it grew into a roaring fire and Derek was in too deep now.

The tracking into the jungle was long and hot and Derek only held onto his own lunch when they found Jackson for Stiles. He had to be strong, unbreakable for Stiles. He wouldn’t give in.

When they found Lydia, all Derek saw was red at the sickening gleam in Kate’s eye. He forgot about everything and just had to end her. Only the panicked tone in Stiles’s voice brought him back enough to dash into the jungle as the giant wave descended on them.

The race to safety was just a big blur. The only thing sharp in his mind from it was the look on Lydia’s face, determined and sad, as she pushed him away from Kate and into the safety zone with Stiles.

She’d saved his life so he could be with Stiles, so he could go on.

He wouldn’t forget Lydia Martin, never. He’d get revenge for her too. He’d make the Capitol pay for the pain and suffering they did to Stiles, for the deaths of Lydia and Isaac and Boyd.

For the torture they put his Uncle through.

Whatever he had shown on his face must had been too much because he was fevered and dying soon after Lydia’s death. They’d seen the rebellion in his eyes, the hatred.

Stiles though would try his hardest to beat the challenges and Derek’s fevered mind was altered and he couldn’t do anything to stop Stiles from running off to his death. To save him, who was going to die anyway.

Because the Capitol would rather have no winner than two.

The countdown to his death was long and Derek blacked out for half of it. He’d only managed to come back to the living world to look into Stiles’s panicked eyes once last time, his voice pleading against his ear.

But then he suddenly came back from the darkness, mind clear and body rested. Stiles was nowhere near him and he flipped, worried that Stiles had killed himself to save Derek. The doctors had let Derek into Stiles’s room when he wouldn’t calm down and Derek stayed by Stiles’s bedside until he woke without the glossy fog in his eyes.

Now that the Capitol declared them both the winners and they were safely out of the arena, Derek didn’t know what to do with himself. After all that, everything they had gone through, it’s surreal to be back in the training building. It feels like a dream and Derek kept as close to Stiles as possible the past few days. His uncle never far from him either, and the warm embrace that Derek had gotten from him nearly brought him to tears.

He’s  going home. Kate’s gone and he kept Stiles alive.

Broken, but alive.

Derek sighs, runs his fingers through his hair and stands from his bed. He can’t keep dwelling on the Games now that they were over. It’s too exhausting and pointless.

He can’t hear anyone in the penthouse and doubts that they are up. It doesn’t stop him from quietly padding his way over to Stiles’s closed door. In the dark, the penthouse isn’t as amazing as Morrell makes it seem. It’s rather dominating and cold. Derek holds in a shiver and gives a small knock on Stiles’s door, playing with the strings of his silky sweat pants.

He doesn’t really expect Stiles to be awake, or even answer his door. He quietly slips in anyway, the perfect structure not giving any squeaks like all the doors in District Seven.

Stiles’s room is similar to the one Derek is sleeping in, which he is guessing was Lydia’s. His chest feels hallow and hopes with an unknown reason that Stiles’s isn’t mad at him for using Lydia’s room. It’s dark, but the softness of the bathroom light gives Derek enough light to see the bed empty, sheets twisted and flown everywhere. It looks as if Stiles thrashed about in them.

The soft pitter patter of the shower leads Derek to stand in the doorway, staring at Stiles, who is curled up in the farthest corner of the shower, head in his knees and soaking wet.

Derek understands, he’s done the same thing in the early hours for the past couple of days. Nightmares that seem too real plague them. Derek doubts he’ll ever ride them, seeing as his Uncle never has.

Stiles probably didn’t hear him, so he makes more noise then he normally does, but Stiles doesn’t lift his head even. Instead, Derek is looming over him, shower drenching him, and waiting. Stiles still doesn’t move. Derek’s heart stutters, he knows he’s not in the arena, but what if. What if the Capitol tricked them, made them believe they are safe?

He kneels and rips Stiles’s arms from his knees; he needs to see his eyes. Stiles’s skin is cold, but there’s a strong pulse in his wrists and he looks up into Derek’s alarmed face. His lashes are thick and clumping with water, dark circles stand out, even in Derek’s shadow.

“Der-” But Stiles doesn’t get his name out.

Derek’s crushing his lips on Stiles's, pressing in hard and desperate. He’ll feel stupid and embarrassed about this later; he just needs to reassure himself and Stiles that everything is ok.

Stiles seems on board, with the soft groan he lets out and he pulls Derek closer until they are too unbalanced and crash over onto the shower floor.

Stiles is laughing into Derek’s neck, spitting out water onto his skin.

Relief washes over Derek and he pulls both of them up to a stand. Stiles is still laughing, burrowing into Derek.

They change into dry pants and curl up in Stiles’s still warm bed. Derek doesn’t fall back asleep though and the uneven rise and fall of Stiles’s chest under his arms tells him that Stiles doesn’t either.

At dawn, Morrell is knocking on Stiles door and they drag themselves out to the living room. They don’t bother to hide the fact that they were sleeping together, or put on more clothes. Derek glares at his wardrobe team as they start in the moment they sit down.

At least they aren’t separated and soon it is noon and Derek is back in a form fitting suit that he doesn’t think is called that, but hasn’t any idea what to call it. Stiles is sullen next to him and his own clothes are similar. The two winners, bonded by love, one in the same.

They are escorted down to the bottom level, Uncle Peter close to Derek’s side. Deaton doesn’t seem too worried about Stiles and keeps a distance, chatting with Morrell. Derek shifts about to stand as close as he can to Stiles. A hover craft comes to get them and they are driven to a separate studio, though it looks the same as it did in the beginning of the games.

Their interview is together and the cameras and lights are too much. Derek grits his teeth had has a hard time bringing the charm as he did a few weeks ago. Stiles doesn’t say much, he’s tense and Derek can tell he’s on the edge of a flashback.

So he reaches for his hand and the audience coos at them. It makes Derek sick and angry. So angry, he wants to shove back and spit out how horrible they all are. Celebrating death and taking what they haven’t worked for.

His answers are snippy, but the crowd doesn’t seem to notice. Stiles comes back a little and tights his hold on Derek's hand.

After the agonizing interview, they are brought to the grand hall in which they arrived in. A speech is made; the president shakes their hands and gives them their congratulation crowns. Derek can’t wait to molten it down. There’s a bunch more lights and flashes and then all of a sudden they are on the train that brought them and whisked out of the Capitol.

Stiles is curled up on a big comfy chair, already undressing his ‘winner’s’ apparel.

They are getting dropped off now. Back home, like nothing ever happened.

Derek collapses into a chair next to Stiles and bumps his foot against Stiles’s shin.

“You ok?”

Stiles shrugs, “As much as I can be.”

“This feels weird, going home.”

Stiles nods, “like I haven’t been there in years.”

But really it’s only been what, four weeks max? Probably not even that long. There was that one year, where the Games last three months. The year after Kate arrived in District Seven.

They just sit and chat for a while then, eventually making it to the floor, Stiles’s feet tucked under Derek’s thighs. Derek tells Stiles about his family. How Laura is always stealing his axe on their lumber days with their Dad. How all five of the Hale siblings curl up together in Derek’s room right before the Games and talk of ways to stop it, how to get back at the Capitol. To run off into the red woods and live off the land.

Stiles talks about his dead Mother. It’s the only thing he talks about.

It worries Derek, but he doesn’t push Stiles. He just rubs his calf and listen’s to Stiles’s half dead voice.

By late afternoon, Uncle Peter comes and gets them up. They will be arriving in District Seven soon. Derek hates the panicked look in Stiles’s eyes.  

They go off and change into their reaping clothes. Uncle Peter gels back his hair the way his Mom does. It makes Derek feel like a little kid, but he doesn’t say anything. When Uncle Peter is finished, he hands over a folded up piece of paper to Derek.

“Here,” he says, “It’s the phone number to your new house.” And he pats Derek’s neck like he always does and leaves him be.

Right. Derek forgot about that, all the winnings. The new house, the fortune. His Mother will never have to divide up dinner evenly between the seven of them again. His father can cut back on the number of tree cutting trips he goes on. He could probably stop them altogether.

But the best thing. Derek will have money for the train, he can visit Stiles.

He finishes buttoning up the dark blue dress shirt and tucks down a stray hair behind his ear.

He finds Stiles fidgeting with his sleeves just outside his door.

“Derek-” he starts, but Derek just shoves the piece of paper at Stiles.

“It’s my new number,” He says.

Stiles swallows loudly, “right.”

Derek hates the vulnerability in his voice, “I’ll see you soon.”

Stiles nods and tucks the paper into his chest pocket. Derek pulls Stiles against him, running his hands over the back of Stiles’s waist. They don’t kiss, it doesn’t feel right. They just stand leaning on each other for a long while, until the train starts to slow down. Stiles pulls away first, hiding his eyes that Derek knows has anxiety in them.

He looks small in his father’s dress shirt and Derek really doesn’t want to leave him. The train isn’t stopping for long though. So Derek presses a light kiss to Stiles’s forehead and gently pushes past him.

The sun is low and the moment Derek steps out from the train, pine and red woods hit his noise and the air is so much cleaner than in the capitol. Derek breathes in deep. Behind him, Uncle Peter is ushering Stiles to step off just for a moment. It will be good to show District Seven the other victor, show the Capitol that they are keeping up with appearances.

Not that Derek doesn’t want Stiles to be next to him. They walk through the small train station and out to the front, where a crowd is gathered. Derek catches sight of his family immediately; Laura is jumping up and down, a smile split from ear to ear on her face.

Derek’s District representative claps loudly and fast, speaking into a mic that Derek didn’t even catch sight of. She announces them as ‘your winners’ and it’s the last moment Derek has with Stiles. Just a hand squeeze and then Morrell and Deaton are whisking Stiles back to the train.

Derek wants to follow, but the pull of Laura’s shouting is too strong.

Uncle Peter pushes him through the crowd and Derek has his arms full of his family. His father has the ever layer of saw dust and it’s a little suffocating to be hugged so tight by seven people, but he’s home.

Still, he can't help but watch Stiles's retreating back through the glass doors of the train station. They are tight and vibrating loneliness, even at their distance.

Derek feels a part of him following after Stiles.

**

His new house is huge and off into the woods, away from the town. It’s nice, it gives them privacy and after the Games, that’s all that Derek really wants. There’s a wraparound deck that his Mother takes to the moment she lays eyes on it. The house is three stories with a wide nook in the front. It’s an off white with deep trimming. It’s impressive, but Derek can only think about the emptiness that is settled into his stomach.

He can’t stop thinking about Stiles.

They take a long tour of the house, where it takes an hour just to decide who gets which room. Derek bitches out that he's nearly died for this house and that puts an end to who gets the biggest room. It takes another hour for the rest of the four Hale siblings to come to agreements. By then, his parents have sneaked down into the kitchen to cook dinner.

Throughout dinner he doesn’t talk much. Laura keeps leaning on him and his youngest brother, Jacob keeps jumping into his lap, hugging his neck tight. It’s fine, Derek doesn’t mind. His family has always been tactile, but it doesn’t sooth his uneasiness.

After dinner, Derek climbs up the first flight of stairs to his new room. It’s simple and bigger than the room in the penthouse back at the Capitol. All the furniture is made of wood and the walls are a deep green. The whole house is like a cabin and Derek can practically hear Stiles’s voice in his head, “ _holy shit, you guys really are lumber jacks.”_

He flops down on his larger, soft bed and stares out the window at the forest. It’s well past dusk now, the stars shinning bright through the red woods. Derek wants to know if Stiles has reached home yet. He’s just drifting off when his bed dips and a heavy weight is pressing on his side.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses and shoves Laura off of him. She goes to the floor with a giggle and pops right back up.

“This place is amazing baby bro.” she says and bounces a few times on his mattress. Derek resists the sigh in his throat.

“Can you stop bouncing.” It’s not a question.

Laura pulls a face at him but stops and curls up next to his side, “is it weird that it feels like you never left?” she asks.

Derek frowns, of course that’s weird. Didn’t she watch him fighting for his life for the past four weeks? Derek rolls his eyes to himself.

“Yes, that’s weird.” He says.

Laura huffs and elbows him in the side. He’s about to shove her off the bed, but his door creaks open and Jacob comes padding in, still so small for a twelve year old.

He crawls up and wiggles down between the two of them and Derek knows what’s going to happen next. His younger sister, Cora, follows Jacob and tackles Laura with a war cry. She’s getting to be just as tall as Laura and the extra weight makes the bed creak. It’ll hold, hopefully.

Derek fears a bit for his life though when his oldest brother, Nate comes running in and leaps on all of them. He lands heavily with a loud chuckle, they all groan.

“Nate,” Derek grits out and pushes Cora’s elbow away from his side, “aren’t you too old for this?”

“Yeah,” Laura huffs, “go be with your _fiancé._ ” She's trying to shove Nate off, but failing miserably.

Nate asked the town’s bakery girl to marry him just a few months before the Games. Derek’s parents are still holding strong to keeping Nate at home for as long as they can. He’s not allowed to move out until he’s married, even though they’ve picked out a nice little house and everything already.

Nate’s laugh is deep and vibrates throughout the bed. It calms Derek’s nerves instantly.

“What and miss out on family secret sharing time? _Hell no_.”

There’s a ton of wiggling around before Derek is squished between Laura and Cora. Jacob is half on Laura, half on Nate, but he keeps reaching over and tugging gently on Derek’s ear. Derek can’t help the small smile every time he does so.

There’s a long drawn out silence that is shaking with anticipation.

“So, did you bang Twelve?” Cora asks. Both Laura and Nate gasp, and slam their hands over Jacob’s ears.

“Cora!” they both shout in hushed whispers, “there is a child present.”

Cora shrugs and elbows Derek’s side again, “whatever,” she says, “come on. Give it up, bro.”

Derek ignores the blush on his cheeks and pokes Cora in the stomach, “that’s none of your business, but no. We did not ‘ _bang_ ’.”

Derek feels he should be more disturbed that Cora pouts at that, but Cora’s whole life has been about asking awkward questions at inappropriate times.

Laura grins at him and removes her hands from Jacob’s ears, “do you love him?” she teases, drawing outing the ‘o’.

Derek feels his neck getting hot and he bites the inside if his lip. He completely forgot how embarrassing and insufferable his siblings can be.

“Oh my god!” Cora yelps when he doesn’t answer and _damnit_ , why. Every time he does this, “you totally do!”

He should know by now that staying silent is his tell. He really hates that his siblings can read him so easily.

“Wait, that was all for real?” Laura asks. Derek huffs at her.

Nate saves him and best brother ever, “come on guys, lay off. He just got back-”

“-Thanks Nate-”

“-we can grill him tomorrow.”

“Traitor.”

Nate grins widely over Jacob’s head.

“Well,” Jacob speaks up, “I like him.”

“You don’t even know him,” Cora sneers.

“So?” Jacob wiggles around until he rolls across Laura and is sitting on Derek’s chest which, _fuck_ , he is getting heavy, “he saved Derek, I don’t need to know anything else about him.”

“Whoa,” Laura says, “way to be deep Jakey.”

Jacob scrunches his nose at the nick name, “don’t call me that.” He says.

Their parents come bursting in the room before the shouting can start. They can smell a fight from a mile off between the five of them.

“Ok,” his Mom says, “everybody off Derek.”

There’s a bunch of whining and it takes a while to get everyone untangled and Derek gets the wind pushed out of him _again_ before everyone is shuffling out of his new room.

His Dad leaves his door open a crack and Derek listens to his family moving around their new home. They’re still loud and Derek can understand half of Cora and Laura’s fight about who gets to wake Derek up in the morning. Silence comes over the house eventually and Derek is back to staring out the window. The moon is a bright sliver and Derek misses the warmth from his siblings. The emptiness in his chest is back.

“Night, Stiles.” He says to the stars.

He pretends that Stiles’s answer is carried on the wind and not just a distant memory in his head.

 

 

__Notes__

Ahh! Woot! Derek's point of view! lol Um, I hope it's not too boring for you guys. :/ So, one last chapter to this and then probably an epilogue. I'm still thinking on a squeal, but I'm not really sure how to parallel it with the second book. Thanks for reading you guys! Everyone's been so great and nice! I love that you guys like my fic! :) Have a good week everyone!


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on Kid, let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, second to last chapter! Ahh! I'll go back and edit tomorrow, I just want to get this up since I haven't updated in a while. Have fun reading!! :)

 

 

 

Stiles feels a chill he can’t rid the moment he gets back on the train. It feels too empty without Derek, without Lydia. Just him, a survivor of the Games. Without Derek there to distract him, all he can think about is how Allison feels. Will she be mad that Stiles didn’t save her best friend? That he let Lydia die? Will Scott back Allison, because she’s his whole life?

Will he even be able to relate to them anymore? He’s only been away for a short month but he feels as if he’s grown a life time.

He shivers.

Deaton and Morrell have moved to gather dinner on their plates but Stiles doesn’t think he can eat. He curls down into the chair Derek was sitting in early. It still smells a bit like him. He keeps pressing his fingers against his chest pocket, crinkling the small paper there. He wants to call Derek the moment he gets into his new home, but he won’t. It’ll be dark by then and late probably. Derek will be asleep. Most of his own district will be asleep even.

Still, it’s not as if he will never see Derek again. They have their victory trip through each district still.

Not that Stiles is looking forward to that.

He sinks lower in the chair, the warmth of Derek’s presence fading into his own until Stiles can’t feel it anymore. It’s pitch dark outside the train, not even the shadows of the trees visible. Half the night has passed and he didn’t even realize.

Tingles shoot down his legs as he uncurls himself, he’s stiff and tired. Deaton and Morrell are nowhere to be seen, probably sleeping already. He nibbles on some left out food before wondering into his room. It’s the same, just as everything else on the train. He curls down onto the mattress, but sleep evades him.

All he can think about is Derek’s missing body, Lydia and Isaac’s dead ones and his father’s empty eyes.

Eventually, the sun slowly peeks in through the train’s windows, a soft wash of light that feels warm and safe. Stiles shivers in the rays in his room, not feeling the sun’s warmth. He can hear Deaton and Morrell moving about. He’s drifted the whole night.

Still in his father’s shirt and his dark pants, Stiles brings himself to move back out into the main car, they are only a few hours from District Twelve now. Only time for a short breakfast.

He sits at the table, but he can’t bring himself to eat. He’s too nervous. It just hits him now, he’s alive, he won and he’s going home. The closer the train gets the more his stomach flips and as it starts to slow, he’s shaking so hard he can’t even hold a cup of water. There’s not much of a crowd, he can’t hear any roars of cheers, not like for Derek.

He doesn’t care though, it’s barely dawn and all that matters is his Father and Scott.

Deaton has to usher him out to the waiting area where Morrell fusses over his appearance a bit. He shakes her off though, because who cares? It’s just his Father and Scott and ok, sure, there are camera’s for the capitol, but no one will be awake to view it.

It doesn’t seem real when he steps out into the early light. The smell wafting from the mines reaches his nose and he inhales deep. He’s always hated the way the coal mines smell, dirty and ashy. For a moment it reminds him of Kate. It’s home though, and just being back is more amazing then anything Stiles can think of.

Except kissing Derek, nothing’s better than that.

There’s a bigger crowd then he thought, but he picks out the dark blond hair of his Father in a second. He looks older and thinner. But there’s a light in his deep blue eyes that Stiles hasn’t seen since his Mother was alive. Scott is bouncing on his heels next to his Dad, brown eyes wide and a smile so bright Stiles can’t help the giddy tingle in his body. Allison is holding tight to Scott to keep him from rushing the train station. Stiles can see happy tears lingering in her big eyes though. Deaton’s hand is tight on his shoulder as he mutters something to him; they have to push through the small crowd in the front.

The camera’s lights are bright and Stiles has to stop and smile through his wiriness with Deaton by his side. It’s only a few minutes, if even, but it feels like eternity. He’s not shaking with nervous anymore, but buzzing with excitement and he can’t keep the grin off his face as he stares past the camera crew at Scott, who’s unlogged himself from Allison and is jumping about more violently, smile just as blinding as the lights around Stiles.

Deaton says a few things and then they are pushing through the cameras and Deaton’s latch on him lessons. It’s all it takes. Stiles books it straight for Scott, who ignores Allison’s shouted and runs just as fast to Stiles. They collide in a very painful hug and collapse on the ground, laughing their asses off to cover the tears on their faces. Stiles hides in Scott’s shoulder and hangs on tight.

Stiles can still feel the cameras at his back but he doesn’t care anymore. Not when Scott’s arms feel stronger than before around him, and the forest’s scent is lingering on Scott’s clothes and hair. Both of them have a layer of dust thick on their clothes and normally Stiles would feel bad about ruining his Dad’s clothes, but he’s so rich now he can just by him a new shirt. So he just nestles down against Scott for a bit longer.

“Oh my god, dude.” Scott is shouting in his ear, his voice still shaking with laughter, “oh my _god._ ”

It’s all Scott can say and Stiles understands him so well.

Allison and his Father eventually realize that Scott isn’t going to let Stiles up any time soon and make their way to them quickly. Allison lasts only a few seconds before she falls down on top of them, hugging both of them tight. She’s giggling and petting Stiles’s hair, to choked up to really say anything yet.

They struggle up eventually and Stiles just rushes into his Father’s arms without a care about the dust or his Dad’s clean uniform. He doesn’t knock him over onto the ground though, that’s strictly for Scott only.

His exhaustion catches up with him again and his Dad combs a large hand through Stiles’s hair,

“Come on Kid, let’s go home.”

Home turns out to be a house so big Stiles can fit half of his grade in it. It’s simpler then some of the other houses down the unpatched street. Deaton’s is slightly bigger and with the extravagant front lawn and fountains, Stiles can’t even think about what the inside looks like.

There are two floors in his new home, too many bedrooms and way too many bathrooms. At least the showers aren’t as confusing as the ones in the Capitol. The kitchen alone is bigger than his old home, and the fridge is filled with food already. His stomach grows loudly and his Dad laughs, patting the back of his neck and fishing around for something to cook.

“Go wash up and change, It’ll be a bit.”

Stiles goes without argument. The constant dust clouds coming off is bothersome. He rinses himself off quickly and pulls on new clothes that were just _there_. And then he has nothing to do.

He’s so used to constant planning, constant panic that boredom is such a foreign concept to him. He sits down on the large bed in ‘his’ room and stares out at the hills and forest. There’s a heat rising with the day, still late in the summer, but air condition kicks in soundlessly. It gives Stiles a small chill. He searches around for a sweater, knocking into a few things here and there. His body’s not used to the new layout and now that Stiles doesn’t have to be on constant guard, his clumsiness is coming back full force.

There’s nothing warm to wear in the dresser so he gathers some courage and throws open the closet door on the far side of the room. It opens up into another room practically and Stiles doesn’t understand why he needs a closet so big. Style has never been an importance to him. He files through shirts and pants and more shirts until he finds a soft, black sweater. He gets his head stuck pulling it on and manages to knock over his night stand as he flails about back into his room. Once he’s safely snug in the garment, a pang strikes his chest as his eyes land on the floor.

A phone is sprawled about, a faint dial tone drifting up from it. The emptiness that left him earlier comes roaring back.

Derek is probably still sleeping, as the rest of his family. It’s too early to be up and it’s the weekend. Stiles isn’t sure about District Seven, but in Twelve, weekends are resting days for the miners and students.

He picks up the night stand, the lamp and the phone. And then he sits back down on his bed and stares at the phone.

He stares for a long time, until the smell of pancakes fills the house and his Dad calls him down. Stiles makes a stop in the bathroom and searches the pockets of his Reaping clothes that are still in a heap on the floor.

Derek’s number is messily scrawled, but readable. The paper is crumbled and dirty, but it doesn’t matter, as long as Stiles can still read the numbers. His hunger doesn’t seem as important to him anymore, but his Dad’s second call coaxes him downstairs.

Like he thought, it’s too early, Derek is probably still sleeping.

The kitchen is a complete mess, batter everywhere, plates strewn across the counters. His Dad is standing in the middle of it, covered in flour.

Stiles smirks, “now who needs to wash up.”

“Hey,” his Dad points a spatula at him, “you’ll hush up if you know what’s good for you.” There’s no heat behind the threat and Stiles just snorts at his Dad. He moves in for a quickly hug, arms looping loosely around his Dad’s waist.

“Thanks,” Stiles grins, and piles on seven pancakes onto an empty plate.

They eat together in the living room, curled up close on the large, deep couch and stare at the large tv. Stiles doesn’t know what would be on right now, the recap of The Games maybe before the last footage is aired. He doesn’t want to watch that though. So they stare at the black screen and talk about their new home. And how much his Mom would have loved it.

Surpassingly, Derek doesn’t come up at all and Stiles is near a food coma when the afternoon rolls around. His Father ruffles his hair and goes to clean up the kitchen before it gets to gross. Stiles stretches and stares off into nothing for a bit. His food is sitting heavy in his stomach though so he bounces up and yells out to his Dad that he’s going to Scott’s.

His Dad’s, “be careful,” is muffled by the front door closes and Stiles snorts. Right, careful, because he didn’t just survive a death match.

The heat is hotter than Stiles is used to this late in summer and combined with too much food, he’s moving slowly. But he’s got all day and it gives him a chance to take in his District.

Everything is the same, not one thing out of place or off. There’s still starving people slowly dying on their porches, miners heading to the Hob for a few relaxation hours. He makes it too Scott’s within the hour and it feels a little weird to walk past his old house, empty and old. Compared to his new home, it looks nothing more than a shack.

Stiles bites his tongue and glares the rest of the way to Scott’s.

Melissa is home when Stiles sticks his head in the door. She looks dead on her feet and her dark hair is frizzier than normal. She’s still got coal dirt on her cheek from yesterday’s work. Her smile is the same bright smile Scott has when she sees him.

“Stiles, oh Hun,” is all she says before pulling him into a hug. He’s taller than her now and he has to stoop a bit to hug her back.

“Hey, Mrs. McCall, Scottie up?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes, but nods and gives him a small shove towards Scott’s bedroom, the only other room in the house.

Scott is indeed awake, but he’s not out of bed. He’s staring miserably up at the cracking and faded ceiling. Stiles pounces on the crappy mattress, the bed creaking loudly under bother their weight.

“Hey dude.” He says and Scott smiles widely at him, snuggling against him.

Scott’s always looking for snuggles in the heat. It drives Stiles crazy, but today he smiles fondly and allows the extra body heat.

“You up for some light hunting today?” Scott asks after a bit.

Stiles really isn’t and the frown on his face tells Scott so, even though Stiles shrugs and says, “we can if you want. It’s already past noon though.”

Scott sighs and sits up, bed hair crazy and sticking up everywhere.

“We don’t have to; I think we’ve got a rabbit left for Mom to cook.”

Stiles hates the guilt that rushes in his stomach. Rich for one day and he already forgets what a struggle for food is for Scott. And for Allison for that matter.

He hits Scott’s shoulder for his attention, “come over,” he says, “Dad made way to many pancakes a few hours ago. There’s a ton left over.”

Scott looks at him wide eyed, “pancakes.” He says, like Stiles just gave him the best news in the world.

Embarrassment creeps along Stiles’s face, but he ignores it and nods, “yeah, dude, come on. Bring your Mom too.”

The best thing about Scott is that he doesn’t have to be told twice about something he wants. There’s no reassuring that it’s ok to have it, no sweet-talking him to give in. He’ll shout and bitch if he wants something and not hesitate to get it when offered.

Except for gifts, he’s always been weird about gifts.

It takes a bit of arm pulling to get Melissa to pull on her beaten up shoes and head out into the heat with them. And then Scott has to stop at Allison’s along the way. Which they do and she jumps at the chance for pancakes as well, shouting to her Dad that she’ll bring back some for him.

Despite the heat and the lack of food for the three out of four, their small group is happy and Allison is chatting Stiles’s ear off. He finds it off that she’s not miserable and still mourning Lydia’s death. But they’ve had time to grieve, for Stiles it feels as if Lydia’s death just happened yesterday. In the non-stop fear mode during The Games, he had no time to stop and really grieve. But Allison and Scott have and just over a month to do so.

Yet another thing the Capitol has robbed him of.

They get back to Stiles’s home far faster than it took him to get to Scott’s and his Dad isn’t even half way done cleaning up yet. Stiles shushes him and heats up pancakes for Allison, Scott and Melissa, shoving them into the living room to wait.

The click of the TV makes Stiles nervous, but he doesn’t want to be rude and tell them to turn it off. He just hopes there is no Game recaps happening.

Scott and Allison stuff as many pancakes as they can down their throats and are moaning about food comas in minutes, Stiles snorts at them and ignores the look his Dad gives him for judging his friends about something he had done himself a few hours ago. Melissa, like his Dad, isn’t as desperate and stupid like their kids. She eats more than she normally would, but doesn’t push herself to near throwing up.

She does get tired of listening to Scott and Stiles bitch back and forth at each other and goes to help in the kitchen. Stiles takes his her place on the couch, falling half onto Scott and jostling him.

“Ungh, no, dude.” Scott moans and draws out his ‘no’ in mock misery, “too full.”

Allison laughs on his other side and nestles down into the cushions, resting her head on Scott’s shoulder. They stare at the TV.

Unfortunately, the regular scheduled recap of The Games finally pops up and Stiles tenses up.

There’s a fast montage of the killings on screen, Stiles hates the way Isaac’s is shot from behind him. Now he actually has the image of the knife going through Isaac’s back. He swallows thickly and leans more heavily on Scott.

After Lydia’s death is shown, Stiles snags the remote and angrily turns the TV off. He sits seething in anger for a bit before growling out his need to be alone.

He sits and stares at the phone, Derek’s number tight in his hand.

When Melissa’s raised voice reaches his ears, he grabs the phone from its docking station and stumbles down the stairs to the back door. He’s nearly running, the Games replaying over and over in his head. When his chest starts getting too tight, he stops and just crumbles to the ground. He’s in the forest, just passed the tree line. The phone should still get a good connection. He’s too near a panic attack to have nerves about calling Derek. His fingers just press in the numbers and he’s breathing heavily, the ringing echoing in his heart.

“Hello?” It’s Derek that picks up and he sounds a little out of breath, like he ran for the phone.

Just his voice alone clears Stiles’s mind enough for him to stutter out, “It’s Stiles.”

He can picture Derek’s face scrunching up in worry, “are you ok? You sound out of breath.”

Stiles laughs bitterly into the phone, “so do you.”

The silence is loud enough for Stiles to know that Derek is probably blushing.

“Uh, yeah. I kinda….was far away from the phone.”

Yep, he totally called it.

“Spit it out, Twelve,” Derek days affectionately, his voice low, almost a whisper.

“The recaps are on.”

Stiles knows Derek winced in sympathy.

“Stiles…”

“It’s ok, I just…it took me by surprise.”

“I wish I was there.” Meaning there isn’t much Derek can do to comfort him.

“Are you hugging the phone? Cause I totally am.” Stiles tries for light hearted, but it comes out a little too bitter anyway.

Derek snorts and there’s an unseen eye roll that comes with it. Stiles is kidding, but he cradles the phone closer to his ear, as if he can reach through it and touch Derek. There’s a bunch of commotion in the background of Derek’s end, a lot of yelling, playful yelling though. Stiles can hear Derek’s siblings shouting their names about and running around. It makes him ache and he mentally hits himself for being such an asshole and ditching Allison and Scott in anger.

Derek shouts something away from the phone, but comes right back, still concerned.

“What can I do?” he asks.

He could buy a fucking ticket and get his ass over to District Twelve. But Stiles doesn’t say that, it’s too needy, too….desperate.

“Talk,” yeah, talking is good. Anything to distract him from the images in his mind, “just…talk to me.”

And Derek talks. He yells a bit too, and he laughs, and when his siblings rush off into a different part of the house, he whispers. He talks about the new house he’s in, about how Laura woke him up with a sneak attack pillow fight. He talks about the Red Woods and the cool breeze that blows through his house. He talks about everything and anything other than the Games.

Stiles closes his eyes and lets the heat wash over him. Let’s the woods clam him down, his back melting into the tree he’s leaning on. He can do this forever, just sit in the woods and listen to Derek.

Eventually, Derek is pestered too much by his siblings and when he tells Stiles he has to go, he sounds in more pain than he’s ever been in. Stiles just smiles sadly and nods, even though Derek can’t see him.

“I’ll talk to you later?” he asks, quiet.

“Tomorrow,” Derek is unyielding, determined sounding, like it’s the most important thing he has to do, “I’ll call tomorrow.”

And then the silence is too loud.

 

 

___

Oh my god. Sorry this took so long to get updated! I have been having a crazy month! Anyway, one more chapter, but I am for sure doing a sequal, I just don't know when I am going to start it. :/ Hopefully not to long after finishing this one up! Thanks sooo much you guys! Let me know what you liked or didn't. Hahaha. :)


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safety is a false hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I went back and changed Derek's little sister's name to Cora, since if you guys have been watching the show, that's his sister. This is gunna be the last chapter for this story! But I have the sequel in the works already soooo, look out for that!

 

 

 

Summer has been buried by orange and red leaves for a few weeks now. The stillness of winter approaching faster than Stiles remembers. It gets faster every year. This year though, this year it brings relief instead of hardships. He still has nightmares, but the Games aren’t an ever presence in the back of his mind. And It’s not every night he’s terrorized, He’s gotten it down to maybe one nightmare a week. Yay, healing.

A lot of it is because of Derek though. A lot. They talk nearly every day on the phone. Most of the time for hours, until Stiles’s Dad yells at him to get off, or Scott huffs his boredom. Sometimes, it’s Derek’s siblings that drag him away, a few times his Mom. Stiles has talked to nearly all the Hale family members. Laura almost as much as Derek. She pops down next to Derek every time he’s on the phone and starts rambling away, talking over Derek.

A couple times she steals the phone and hides from Derek, whispering in giggles to Stiles about how stupid Derek is and how it’ll take hours for him to find her. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t.  Other times, Laura will just shout from where she is in the room with Derek, Stiles barely hearing what she’s saying. If he misses it, she makes Derek repeat everything she says and Stiles’s answers back. They’ve learned the hard way what happens when they just ignore her.  Derek swears to Stiles he will never be able to eat apples ever again.

There’s frost coating the ground when he wakes up. It’s early and a Sunday. The only person that would be up now is his Dad. He usually has an early morning round on Sundays. The house is warm and dark; the kitchen lights are on, flooding the living room with enough light so Stiles doesn’t run into the couches. Or the coffee table, he did that one time and it was almost as bad as being in the Games. There had been a lot of blood that day.

He still trips on Scott’s shoes though, every morning. Even though their always in the same spot, he just forgets every time. Stiles blames it on being an only child.

It’d only been about two weeks from Stiles’s return that Melissa and Scott moved in with them. He had felt way too guilty about his sudden riches and demanded that Melissa and Scott live with them. He hadn’t thought his Dad would disagree, but he was expecting more of a fight. Instead, his Dad had just nodded along and told him that Scott had to learn not to leave wet towels about the house.

Melissa had been a bit reluctant at first; she had never been one for charity. But Scott had scoffed and pointed out that he’d been sleeping over at Stiles’s almost every night for the past two weeks. And after a threat of Stiles just giving her food and nice things anyway, she let Scott gather their things and move right on in.

Of course, Scott still hasn’t learned that wet towels stay in the bathroom, his room, or the hamper.

His Dad threats to kick Scott out daily. It’s HI-larious. 

His Dad is in the kitchen, like he always seems to be now a days. He’s picked up the habit of cooking, like Stiles’s Mom used to whenever they could afford good food, which wasn’t too often, but more often the most families living on the Seam. His Dad only takes a few shifts each week and their usually mid to evening ones, so he can be home for dinner and be up for breakfast.

His Dad is _not_ however, dressed in his peacekeepers uniform. He’s just in regular jeans and t-shirt, flipping over-

“Oh my god, are you making crapes?” Stiles is already drooling.

His Dad barks out a laugh, “Sure am, kiddo. Wanna finishing cutting up the fruit?” he points to the bowls of washed strawberries and apples. Stiles snorts at the apples and makes a mental note to over exaggerate to Derek about how awesome his apple crapes were…are… _will be_. Beside them are two smaller bowls of blueberries and raspberries. It only takes him Twenty minutes to cut everything up, even with the ‘you’re cutting them too big’ look from his Dad after he finished half the apples.

He’s just finishing up getting out the jams when a loud thud spooks him and a pitiful moan floats up from the hallway.

Stiles shares an amused  look with his Dad. There’s another thud followed by “Fuckin’, _ow._ ”

Which meant Scott was up. And early in the morning too, just before Fall sunrise. He’s also tripped on his own shoes every morning. It’s a special bond Stiles shares with Scott, their flaily-ness.

Scott stumbles into the kitchen, actually dressed, but not at all awake. He stumbles slowly over to Stiles and promptly falls against him with a sleepy moan.

 Stiles laughs and pats Scott’s head, “Morning, buddy.”

Scott murmurs something against his neck and it’s a testament at how long they’ve been friends that Stiles knows exactly what Scott said. His Dad is probably right; he has no doubt spent too much time with Scott. Not that it will change any time soon, Scott’s his bro.

“Ok, let me go get our bows.” Stiles drags Scott over to one of the kitchen stools and places him on it, leaving him to slump forward onto the island counter top.

Scott wants to go hunting. It’s one of the only reasons he will get up early. Especially on a weekend.

Stiles has only been out hunting in the forest a handful of times since the Games. If he wants to keep his skill up, he needs to start doing it regularly. The hallway is darker than the rest of the house, away from windows, but it only takes him a moment to gather his and Scott’s bow and arrows from the back of the last closet. He even stops in his room to pick up the throwing knifes he purchased in the black market last week. They’re not near as nice as the ones in the games, their weight is a little off and their grip isn’t quite right for his hands, but their decent and Stiles is tired of using makeshift spear heads as knifes.

He wraps the knifes around his waist and hides them with his shirt before pulling on a smooth, thin leather jacket, worn and free. If he’s caught with the knifes, he’ll be in trouble for sure, at least with the bow and arrows they can just chuck them and say they found them.

Not that anyone would believe them, they have the best game in the District.

Scott is munching away on an apple crape when Stiles returns to the kitchen. He looks more awake with some food in him. Stiles snorts and grabs a couple apple slices,

“Dad, we’re going out.”

His Dad glances at the bows and frowns, “don’t get into any trouble.”

He always says that when Stiles leaves for the woods. But there’s a low tone this time that makes Stiles stare too long at his Father, trying to figure out what he’s really trying to say. He doesn’t make another sound though, so Stiles grabs Scott’s collar and pulls him along.

The sun is just barely coming up and no one is awake yet. Which is good, because Scott is swinging his bow around like he drank half the alcohol behind the bar counter in the Hub. They slip easily under the wire fence and immediately their footsteps lighten, their clumsy nature vanishing. They head south for a bit, towards the lake that isn’t too far, making traps and gathering wild berries to munch on as they go.

The closer they get to the lake, the louder they get. Since their not dependent on the hunt for food, they treat it more for sport and anything they scare away this early will be too big for them to bring back to town anyway. They spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to through berries into each other’s mouths. Scott wins with twenty seven, yet another record of reckless berry tossing.

Once they are upon the lake, Stiles starts stripping his clothes. It’s still cold, the sun up, but the forest canopy keeping its warmth from coming in. But Stiles wants to go for a small swim. He wades slowly into the water, feeling like Isaac is right next to him, easing him into the water for a lesson.

Scott calls out worriedly to him and Stiles just waves him off. Once he’s waist deep he kicks his feet off the floor and floats onto his back. Without the threat of tributes, Stiles can see why Isaac loved the water so much. It is calming, almost like being reborn. Something about it, the simplistic nature, or the gentle lapping of the water.

Eventually, Scott has an almost melt down the farther Stiles floats out. He treads for a little bit, looking around for his bro before all hoes. The swim back only takes a few minutes and it loosens a huge knot in Stiles stomach he didn’t even know he had.

Scott flips out on him, pulling him out of the water once he’s in arms reach. Stiles laughs and teases Scott, which ultimately turns into a water fight, which leads to Stiles pulling Scott out into the lake, which leads to a panic attack on Scott’s behave this time, until eventually Stiles is giving Scott a swimming lesson. The lesson goes on for a few hours, until Scott is comfortable enough to swim away from Stiles on his own. By then they are prunes and their snares are bound to have caught a few animals. If they start to head back now, they can sell them down at the market.

They collect more berries on the way back, not wasting them this time and skin the three rabbits and four squirrels in their traps. They shoulder their bows and arrows, which they didn’t even use and start the uphill hike back. Half way, Stiles leads Scott down a barely visible path to do some target practice. It leads them to a small enclose, where geese usually land for a rest in early autumn. They sneak up close, a small flock of them honking and pecking around the marshy patches of grass.

Stiles takes out four of them no problem, all knife throws straight through the eye, no damage to the body. The geese are large and it takes a little bit of maneuvering to sling them over their shoulders with the rest of their hall, but they are both aware how rare good meat is in District Twelve. The geese will pay a hefty price.

They have to be extra careful going back through the fence. There are more peacekeepers on rounds today, a few of them Stiles is unfamiliar with. He knows his Dad’s whole squad, but nearly half of them today are unrecognizable. Scott gives Stiles a questioning look as they wait behind a few old oil barrels. Stiles just shrugs though, his Dad didn’t say anything to him other than ‘be careful.’

They make it to the Hub no problem though and they get a large sum for the four geese. If Stiles didn’t have the Games’ winnings, he and his Dad would be able to live well off of the money he made for a few weeks. They sell the squirrel and rabbit meat at the black market, as well as the pelts. One last stop at the bakery gives them another healthy chunk of money. The baker’s wife always buys their fresh berries for cakes.

Their hard earned money jingles in the small bag attached to Scott’s hip and they rush across town to Stiles’s old home. They stash their bow and arrows there, too many unknown peacekeepers moving about to be seen with the hand made weapon. Stiles doesn’t give up his knifes though, no way. Besides, he can conceal them well enough under his shirt and jacket.

They stop by Allison’s place and Scott shoves the entire money bag in her hands, despite her protesting.

“Allison, just take it. Stiles doesn’t need it and I’m not going to use it.”

Stiles nods encouragingly behind Scott’s back.

They’ve been doing this every week, taking money to Allison’s family. Allison makes a big fuss about it, saying that they are fine and don’t need it. Which is a little true-barely, but ture. Allison’s Dad is a teacher, his leg too busted in a mining accident to be a miner anymore. Teachers get better pay, not much though. Normally Chris Argent would have none of their charity nonsense, but Stiles thinks he feels guilty for Kate and just plucks the money out of Allison’s hands every time they drop off some.  

Every time he stares a little too hard at Stiles, like he’s trying to see the scars she gave him.

Completely free of their shienagins, Scott convinces Allison to hang out with them and possibly stay over for dinner. They go around the seam, scoping out reasons for heavier patrols, but no one seems to know anything. By late afternoon, Stiles drags them toward the shopping section to pick up a few things for his Dad. It’s mainly food and cooking things, but when Allison isn’t look, Scott sneaks a box of expensive chocolates into her beaten and ratty bag.

Stiles rolls his eyes warmly at Scott’s dopey smile and ignores the stab of jealousy when they link hands and bump into each other the whole way back home.

They really are adorbes; it’s just that Stiles wants to be adorable with Derek.

Not that they are really _adorable_ , they get far too dirty far too fast for anyone to call them adorable. Or at least, that’s what Deaton told them once or twice during the aftermath of the Games.

The three of them can smell whatever is cooking before they even open the door. Stiles’s stomach grumbles loudly and Allison’s face is so blissed out Stiles is worried she’s going to slip into crazy land. Scott’s not much better.

“Dad,” Stiles places the bags on the island counter, trying to keep out of the way, “what are you doing?”

The kitchen is completely cluttered, though nowhere near as bad as Stiles’s first day back. It’s a more organized mess now. There’s three pots bubbling away on the stove and the ovens on high, a large shape looking promising inside it. Spices and herbs are strain about and mixing pleasantly in the air. Both Melissa and his Dad are teetering about, smiling brightly at the three teens.

Stiles is only slightly creeped out.

“Ok,” he peers into one of the pots on the stove and _seriously_ , no fair. Its _fucking_ apple cider, hot, spiced apple cider. He totally does _not_ moan, “What are you guys doing?”

Melissa pats his cheek and hands him a mug, “cooking, sweet-cheeks.”

Stiles frowns and dips in his mug, ignoring the ladle. Melissa only calls him overly sweet nicknames when she’s trying to keep in good news or really bad news. Either way, surprises are not his best friend.

Allison and Scott don’t seem to be suspicious, or just don’t care. They get their own cider in seconds and are sitting up on the counter away from all the commotion. They’re playing footies for the whole house to see. Stiles glowers into his cup.

Dinner is ready within the hour and Scott keeps kicking him in the shins, trying to continue his footies game with Allison. With warm food and the early start, Stiles feels his eyes getting droopy and his shoulders ache from carrying around the heavy game. The suspicious feeling in his stomach  weighed down with food. Whatever his Dad was up to, it didn’t happen tonight.  He excuses himself halfway through dinner, his sleepiness getting the better of himself and snags the phone off the charging base. He’s not going to miss out talking to Derek just because he’s not up to par with hunting.

He falls asleep on his bed, fully clothed and staring at the phone.

He doesn’t wake till morning, droll spilling out onto his pillow. Mildly disgusted and ticked at himself for sleeping through Derek’s phone call, Stiles drags himself to the shower and changes his clothes.

Allison is curled up on the couch; hair bunched up and blanket half off her. Scott isn’t anywhere to be found, giving away Melissa’s stand on ‘no girls in Scott’s room forever and ever’. It’s still relatively early, but the sun is already reaching high in the sky and his Dad is out on rounds. Melissa is probably on her way to the mines as well, leaving the house full of teenagers.

Except, there is warm light and an amazing smell wafting from the kitchen. It’s not Scott, not by a long shot; eating dinner made by Scott is a mini Hunger Games in itself. His heart is pounding for no reason as he gets closer, even being back, Stiles is just waiting for his false sense of safety breaks. But the back that is shifting pans around on his stove gets his heart going for a different reason other than fear.

“Holy shit-”

Derek Hale spins around, a sunny smile breaking across his face, “Hey Twelve.”

And that’s all Stiles needs to know he’s real. He launches into Derek, laughing into his shoulder and holding on tight. It feels like years rather than the few months since the end of summer. The numbing emptiness that constantly sits in Stiles’s stomach fades out with a warmth he forgot. Derek’s laugh rumbles through his body as he holds Stiles tight and the soft stubble on his jaw rubs at his neck.

“What are you-“

“-your Dad arranged it.” Derek interrupts, bumping foreheads with Stiles.

The sudden rise in Peace keepers suddenly clicks in Stiles brain; the arrival of a victor is the only other thing that could be the cause of it. Too much security for a normal day, not enough for something more important like Capitol visits or the Games. Stiles smiles and pushes into Derek’s space, pressing his lips hard against Derek’s chapped ones.

And that’s how Scott finds them when he manages to drag himself downstairs in the late morning.  It’s a little weird at first; Scott seems to be giving Derek a territorial vibe, as if Derek will take Stiles away forever. Allison just laughs it off nervously and they spend a few awkward hours walking around town. There are more Peace Keepers out like yesterday and people’s head turn at Derek. He’s hard to miss. A lot of people in District Twelve have dark hair, but Derek’s is so inky black and he’s taller than a lot of the people, no mining chemicals to stunt his growth.

He’s beefed up more than he was in the games, and his hair is thicker and longer, messily pushed back and curling around his neck and ears. He’s grown a little bit too and a soft, constant layer of tree dust sticks to his clothes, even here in District Twelve. Stiles still snickers a bit at the plaid shirt and working boots that resemble Derek’s costume just a bit too much. He gets swatted at for it, but Derek doesn’t lose his smile.

They go back as evening approaches and Stiles can’t stop smiling. This is what Scott must feel like around Allison all the time. He makes a mental note not to tease Scott the next time he has his goofy love struck face on.

Dinner is fast and nice, his Dad is kind to Derek and Melissa is keeping Scott in line. The Games aren’t mentioned once.  Derek drags him out to the woods behind his house after dinner and tugs him along a small path amongst the forest. It’s chilly, the wind now a bitter annoyance rather than a refreshing breeze. Derek leans in close to him, their shoulders lined and hips bumping. It’s not until they are pretty far from the house that Derek yanks his arm to a stop and pulls Stiles close against him.

The smile from the day isn’t lingering on his lips and Stiles swallows. He leans a bit heavier on Derek’s front.

“I got a visit today.” Derek says after a moment.

“From who?”

“The Capitol.”

He stills in Derek’s arms. The warm blanket of security unthreading around him.

“What’d they want?”

Derek’s hands shake on his waist despite the hardness in his eyes.

“A victor.”

The pinched crinkles around his eyes make Stiles’s stomach drop even more amongst his confusion.

“Derek-”

But Derek cut him off, pushing forward and hard against his lips. Whatever it is, Derek didn’t want to linger on it and Stiles was willing to let it go for now. No matter how tight Derek gripped his hips, how roughly he pushed Stiles into a tree and crowded into him.

Even when the moon is high and the chill is too much. Stiles just lets Derek shiver against him and not talk about the Capitol.

**

 

 

It’s extra quiet in the morning, fresh fallen snow on the ground. Stiles doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know. But Derek’s warm arms around his middle keeps the normal chill away. He crawls out carefully and slips on his hunting boots. Derek stirs slowly and Stiles knows he’ll follow him down when he’s ready.

Scott for once, is already up and ready to go, a frown on his face and glaring at the spot behind Stiles head as he walks into the kitchen.

“Scott, you ok buddy?”

Scott grunts and nods, Stiles frowns but doesn’t push it. He already knows why Scott’s not thrilled. He hasn’t been taking to Derek very well and every time Stiles even says his name, Scott’s giving him puppy eyes of betrayal.

“Come on, it’s just one time.” Stiles finally says, watching Scott wrestle with his bow.  Scott huffs pathetically.

“But, hunting is our thing dude.”

And Stiles can’t help but smile a little at that. Sometimes it’s nice to be reminded that Scott doesn’t want to share his best friend either.

“Yeah, and it’s still our thing,” he nudges Scott’s shoulder, “we won’t go to the north end. We’ll stay close to the fence.”

Scott clicks his tongue and shrugs with no heat, “alright, fine.” And he turns to hide a smile.

Derek meets them downstairs half an hour later, looking a bit unsure and more scruffy than usual.  It’s not even light outside, but Derek is twitchy and looks around too much as they make their way to the fence. He sticks a little too close to Stiles and Scott keeps huffing in annoyance. Stiles just takes it in strides though, Derek must be feeling out of his element and the way he keeps brushing the small of Stiles’s back in reassurance makes Stiles think Derek’s close to having Game flashbacks.

Once the three of them are a little deeper in the woods, Derek loses some of the tension in his shoulders and steps back a few feet, giving in the need to protect.

Scott shows him how to properly shoot an arrow and explains the terrain a bit before they make a plan of attack and set out hunting. It takes a little longer for Stiles to find a few squirrels worth killing. Derek’s footsteps are louder than Scott’s or his own, scaring more of the skittish animals. But he brings down a particularly stupid deer and Scott can’t keep the smile off his face.

That meat will give Allison’s family enough money to live off of for a few months.

They call it quits around midday and drag back the deer meat and the few squirrels. It’s a challenge getting the deer over the fence and the three of them stare down at it once it is. Derek eventually huffs and slings the large animal over his shoulder no problem, muttering about logs being much heavier than some stupid animal.

The hub is packed with Peace Keepers and Stiles mingles over to his Father as Derek and Scott haggle with the bartender.

“Dad,” Stiles hops up next to him, “what’s with the cop party?”

His Dad gives him a thin smile though and the emptiness in Stiles’s stomach from last night is back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing kiddo, just try to keep to yourself today.”

Stiles doesn’t protest and makes his way back to Derek and Scott, who’s got the biggest grin on his face.

“Dude, come on, let’s go to Allison’s. This will be enough to feed her for a whole year!”

Maybe not a whole year, but Stiles isn’t going to discourage Scott.  He shares an amused look with Derek and they follow Scott out of the hub.

 Right into a mass of Capitol Peace Keepers. Scott’s smile drops immediately and Derek presses in close to both of them from behind. His knuckles are white on Stiles’s shoulder.

The wide roads of the seam are over flowing with Peace Keepers; it looks almost like the Reaping. It’s eerily quiet and Scott hurries them along. They keep their heads down, but it’s hard to miss Derek here. He stands out and since their faces were plastered all over Panem just a few months ago, they draw even more attention.

They don’t even get halfway to Allison’s before they are stopped.

“Hale, Stilinski, come with us.”

Stiles doesn’t like the cold tone of the Peace Keeper, but he likes the guns they hold even less and Stiles pushes Scott to keep on going. Derek grips his neck hard. They are escorted through town and back to Stiles’s home, which is surrounded by guards.

Stiles swallows nervously and lets one of the Peace Keepers shove him in. They separate Derek and him in the living room. Stiles is lead down to his own room and a cold air seems to be seeping from behind the door. Stiles ignores his thumbing heart and pushes on his door.

Standing at the window, is an older man, his back facing Stiles. He’s hunched slightly, his right hand gripping a thin cane tightly. There’s an air of formality to him, but something darker lingering underneath. He’s obviously from the Capitol, dressed in a fine thread suit, his hair clean and slicked. He’s not outrageous looking like most of the Capitol’s citizens though.

“Mr. Stilinski.” His voice is softer than Stiles thought, but the chill of fear runs down his arms all the same.

The moment he turns, Stiles knows who he is. He’s surprised he hadn’t guessed it right away. He’ll blame it on the shock later. The man’s face is a bunch of angles and tight lines, his eyes hiding behind dark shades. Stiles supposes he’d be good looking, if his face didn’t seem to thin out too much and make him look far to underweight to belong in the Capitol.

Stiles clears his throat, “y-yes.” He stammers.

“I’d like to apologize for this abrupt visit.” The man pulls off his shades and stares right into Stiles’s face, his clouded eyes unseeing.

Stiles swallows thickly. There’s always rumors about these eyes. Dark ones, impossible ones, but it’s always the same person that has them; President Deucalion.

“And also, to congratulate you on winning this year’s Hunger Games.”

Stiles just nods, fully aware that Deucalion can’t see his head movement.

“I like to visit the victors every year, before the tour begins. Just to make sure everything is in place.”

Everything and everyone. Stiles has no illusions about the Capitol and its intimidation practices. President Deucalion is here to make sure Stiles behaves. It’s the same visit that Derek got the day before.

“O-of course,” Stiles stammers out. He feels a panic attack rising and fights to keep it down.

“I see Mr. Hale is here, is he enjoying District Twelve?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, good. Well, Mr. Stilinski, I would just like to remind you that the Victor’s Tour is in a few months. It’s good to prepare for it. Panem likes to see her Victors well groomed and ready to great her citizens.”

Deucalion shuffles past Stiles with fake difficulty and pauses in the doorway,

“One more thing. I find it very interesting that Mr. Hale chooses to visit on the same day as I.”

Stiles tries not to think about the solemn look on Derek’s face last night. He tries hard not to wonder what President Deucalion told Derek on his visit to District Seven. He tries not to think about why Derek doesn’t want to talk about it either.

But even after President Deucalion is long gone from District Twelve and Derek is nuzzling down into his shoulder, Stiles’s mind can’t keep the panic from surfacing every so often. But Derek refuses to talk about it and there’s nothing that Stiles can do but wait.

Wait and watch the storm clouds gather.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, that's it you guys! Thank you soooo much for reading and sticking with the last couple chapters which have been waaay spread apart. :) You guys are so awesome!


	14. Author's Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequal!

Hey guys! After a long autumn, I've finally started the equal! Haha, I want to thank you guys again for reading! You have been so kind! Thanks for waiting for the sequel. It will be up by the end of today and it's called Safe and Sound, of course. Hahaha. :) Happy Hunger Games! I hope everyone is excited for Catching Fire in a few weeks! :)


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